


So I bare my skin and I count my sins, and I close my eyes and I take it in

by Lesatha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humiliation, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Reference to Past Non-Con, Soul Bond, Soulmates, the comfort will come later, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar agrees to King Ecbert's offer of a truce, but how long can you maintain a truce when you fall in love with your new ally's husband?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Athelstan and Ragnar don't meet at Lindisfarne but years later when Ragnar goes to Wessex. So this very loosely follows the general plot of the series.
> 
> On a sidenote, I love Ecbert, but I need a meanie. So, here we go.  
> Also, it's my first time writing in this verse so I hope I won't mess it up too much.
> 
> Title from Bleeding out, by Imagine Dragons.

Ragnar closes his eyes and breathes in the fresh morning air. A light breeze strokes his face and the sunbeams heat his skin. It is a day full of promises. A day which is going to change his life, Ragnar feels it deep down. His horse hits the ground with his hoof, shaking him out of his daydream.

“We’re walking right into a trap,” Floki mutters. 

Ragnar opens his eyes, once again greeted by the sight of the castle in front of them. Floki might be right. They landed on this shore weeks ago, for the second time since the beginning of Ragnar’s raids. They have been fighting the local people since then.  
Ragnar turns just enough to glance at Lagertha, Bjorn, Floki and King Horik. They look suspicious –maybe they are right to be. When they prepared for battle the previous day, none of them had expected to find an envoy from their enemy standing in front of their camp. The man kept shifting from one foot to another. When Ragnar had appeared among the crowd of Vikings watching the envoy, the man had taken out a strange thing –thin and white, not really stiff but not so flexible either– and had kept his eyes on it while he had delivered a message. In Norse. Until then, none of the men they had encountered on this land had spoken a single word of their language. According to Horik, it was a trick from the Gods. To Ragnar’s eyes, it was the opening he had been waiting for from the start.

The envoy had spoken about an offer of truce. That if they agreed to exchange hostages and come to the castle to discuss with the King, maybe they could make a deal and stop fighting. That’s all Ragnar could ask for. They had tried to talk to the man after he had delivered his message, but he had stood there for a few seconds, crumpling this white thing between his fingers, and then he had left.

Convincing King Horik to go took hours.

Now they are in front of the castle and they are not turning back. Ragnar won’t allow such thing, not so close to their goal. Well, maybe it is more Ragnar and Lagertha’s goal, not King Horik’s. A creaking sound draws Ragnar’s attention back on the castle. The heavy door is being open and horsemen trot towards them. Three soldiers flanking a young man of higher rank, whom Ragnar believes to be related to the King.  
Floki grunts and goes to the hostage, shooting daggers at the soldiers.

“Try not to get your throat slit in there,” he tells Ragnar before escorting the hostage back to their camp.

The Vikings are led inside the castle, and even Horik can’t hide his surprise as they walk in this strange corridors. Who builds such massive things, with walls thicker than an arm length?  
They enter a large room guarded by at least six soldiers. The king and another man are waiting for them, standing in front of a round table. Ragnar picks up the enticing scent the moment he takes a step forward. It is faint, but he doesn’t remember smelling anything as attractive since a long time. An omega. As they come closer to the two men, another smell fills his nose, stronger and more menacing –a scent Ragnar could recognize as his own. An alpha. If Horik’s frown is any indication, he smelled it too.

Ragnar has no trouble finding out which one is the omega. No need to smell the King’s scent to know what he is, you only have to look at his square shoulders and the hand he curls on the omega’s collarbone. Oh, the omega. His face is as breathtaking as his scent. Black braided hair contrasting with a pale ivory skin. Blue eyes, unsure yet welcoming.

Ragnar is drawn to him, and it is a pull stronger than mere physical desire. He can’t explain it. All he knows is that he wants him, but such a beauty wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t already someone else’s. The King’s. Ragnar represses a sigh. They are here for a truce. All Ragnar wants is to take the King’s omega.

“Welcome, I am King Ecbert. Athelstan,” – and his hand tightens on the omega’s collarbone, “taught me some of your language. I hope we can find some common ground today.”

So the omega, Athelstan, speaks their language. How he knew they were speaking this precise language is another story. Ragnar knows for sure he hasn’t been on the battlefield, even though it could have been a good strategy to make the warriors lose their ability to fight.  
They take a seat, Ecbert and Athelstan facing the Vikings. The king smiles at his omega and motions for him to start talking. Athelstan clears his throat, his gaze fleeting from one Viking to another and often coming back to Ragnar’s face.

“We are glad you agreed to talk,” he declares, and by the Gods, his voice doesn’t make things easier. “Fighting will bring nothing good, and King Ecbert has an offer for you.”

“Are you the offer?” Ragnar asks, propping his chin on his joined hands.

Lagertha kicks his leg. She has always been against flirting during negotiations but Ragnar is convinced that it would solve many issues in no time. They argue a lot on that point.  
Athelstan parts his lips and sends a questioning look to the king, as if he could understand. Whatever the king thinks they are talking about, he nods, encouraging Athelstan to go on. Ragnar wants to laugh but that would be rude. He hears a little snort coming from Bjorn, and he suspects his son also receives a kick from Lagertha.

“I am afraid I don’t understand,” Athelstan replies, his accent increasing the hesitant edge of his words.

“If your king is offering you to seal our peace, we agree,” Ragnar replies.

“We do not,” Horik groans.

An endearing blush creeps on Athelstan’s cheeks. He threads his fingers with the king’s –and why does Ragnar feel jealous of a man he doesn’t know?– and shakes his head as if he were talking to a small child.

“I don’t think my husband would agree with that,” Athelstan says. “However he is willing to hire you as mercenaries, and to provide you with fertile lands should our collaboration be successful.”

Ragnar’s first impulse is to tell Athelstan that he was already talking about fertile lands, but Lagertha crushes his toes under the heel of her boot.

“Why would your king need his enemies as mercenaries?” she asks.

Athelstan seems to be relieved as well as surprised that she is the one who spoke up, and the blush of his cheeks fades.

“As I said, what do we have to win fighting each other? You are valuable warriors. King Ecbert would need you to fight off his enemies and protect his lands. You will be rewarded with lands, or gold if you prefer.”

“It sounds like a fair offer,” Lagertha declares. “I agree.”

“I’m looking forward to our close collaboration,” Ragnar adds, and the blush is back on Athelstan’s cheeks.

Horik grunts his agreement and Athelstan turns to the king to tell him something in their sweet language. Their hands are still joined and Ecbert traces circle with his thumb on that soft skin. He has been doing it during the whole conversation and Ragnar should really not focus on that, but he can’t help it.  
When Athelstan stops talking, King Ecbert beams and says something in his language.

“Since we agree,” Athelstan translates, “we can arrange a better location for your camp. Also, it would be a pleasure to have you dining with us tonight.”

King Ecbert speaks again, gesturing towards the Vikings. Ragnar doesn’t have to speak their language to understand that Athelstan replies something along the lines of “Really?”, his words punctuated with a frown. The warm smile gracing the king’s face lowers and he stops stroking Athelstan’s hand, his hold changing into a tight grip. Ecbert speaks to him in a calm, cold voice. Lagertha glances at Ragnar, worry evident on her face.

Once Ecbert is done, Athelstan nods and turns back to the Vikings.

“You will also be provided with quarters in the castle, if you wish it,” he says.

“Is that all your king said?” Ragnar asks, because their exchange couldn’t only be about providing a room to your new mercenaries.

“Yes. We will see you tonight.”

Athelstan’s voice is surprisingly curt. From what he has seen so far, Ragnar never thought the young man could have an authoritative side. The meeting ends with Athelstan’s words and the last thing they see when they leave is Ecbert’s warm smile.

“Please warn me next time you decide to ruin a negotiation,” Lagertha exclaims when they get out of the castle, jabbing her forefinger in Ragnar’s chest. “Flirting with the king’s omega, in front of the king! When did that became a bright idea in your mind?”

Sometimes it feels like they are still married. Not that Ragnar minds.

“The king doesn’t speak our language.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t? Why would his omega speak it, and not him? Maybe Ecbert made us think so to trick us, just in case an idiot decides to flirt with his husband under his nose.”

Ragnar hoists himself on his horse and sighs, glancing at Bjorn to find some support. His son smirks and goes in front next to Horik. Of course, the boy won’t side with him.

“That’s the point,” Ragnar replies. “I flirted with his omega and Ecbert didn’t react. No alpha would tolerate that. Hence my conclusion: he doesn’t speak our language. At least we’re sure of that.”

“Oh. So it was a strategy to outsmart the enemy?” Lagertha asks with a sassy smirk.

“In part, yes.”

***

Athelstan is a little relieved when the door closes behind the Vikings. A little only, because now he is alone with Ecbert and the king isn’t pleased. Athelstan knows too well that the warm smile wasn’t for him. That’s what hurts the most.  
A second after the soldiers leave the room and the door clicks shut, Ecbert turns to him and crowds him against the table. The movement is so sudden Athelstan almost loses balance. He grips the edge of the table, half sitting on the wooden surface. The king grips his jaw, his handsome features set in a cold mask. Athelstan’s breath hitches, but it’s not because of the hand on him.

“Since when do you question my decisions?”

“I was surprised, Sire. I would never doubt your judgement. I didn’t expect you to invite the Northmen here, this is why –”

“Enough. Don’t ever make me look like a fool again.”

“I apologize, Sire.”

Athelstan lowers his eyes –he learnt long ago that it pleased Ecbert in such moments– but the king tilts his head up, forcing Athelstan to look at him. He is smiling again, and this time it reaches his eyes. The storm is gone, for now.

“Athelstan,” he says, shaking his head. “Why do you have to act like this? You know I hate chiding you.”

Athelstan wants to object that he didn’t misstep, that the Northmen didn’t even understand what was said, but it would be useless. Instead, he nods and the king releases his jaw to stroke his cheekbone. Then his hand trails down to settle on Athelstan’s stomach. His biggest shame.

“When is your next heat?”

“In a week.”

“I hope you will give me a son this time. I am an old man, and every new failure breaks my heart a little more.”

“I apologize, Sire.”

Athelstan doesn’t know if their –his– failures to conceive a child break Ecbert’s heart, but he is sure that it makes him irritable and prone to get angry.  
Ecbert strokes his stomach through his robe. The sound of the rustled fabric fills the room, in addition to their soft exhalations. Shaky, regarding Athelstan. Ecbert’s hands slide down on Athelstan’s thighs, gripping the robe on each side. He starts pushing it up, staring at Athelstan and biting his lower lip. They scarcely have sex outside the heats now, and Athelstan regrets it. He loved having sex with Ecbert. The realisation surprised him at first. Sex was a sinful act, yet it was so pleasurable. Emotionally pleasurable too, when the king still loved him. Athelstan failed him so many times.  
Ecberts steps between Athelstan’s parted thighs, pushing the robe further up. The door bangs open before he can do anything else.

“Father!” Aethelwulf exclaims, a false joyful smile plastered on his face. “I’m back. I hope everything went well for you.”

Ecbert drops Athelstan’s robe and walks away from the table with a sigh.

“The Northmen will join us. Did they treat you well, my son?”

Aethelwulf flashes him a bright smile and Athelstan has to hide a grin, even though the king can’t see him.

“Very well, Father. Thank you for volunteering me as a hostage by the way, it was a rewarding experience.”

The king ignores the sarcasm, patting his son’s shoulder as he walks by him.

“You’ll be able to further envoy the Northmen’s company, since they are dining with us tonight. Well, I have business to attend to. Athelstan, don’t forget you have a new scroll to copy.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Once his father is gone, Aethelwulf’s smile disappears, replaced by a crease on his forehead. He crosses the room to reach Athelstan and gently pries his fingers open. Athelstan hadn’t realised he was still gripping the table.

“Are you okay?” Aethelwulf asks.

“Yes, we… we had a little argument after meeting the Northmen. Nothing important. I messed up a bit and it’s understandable for your father to be upset when it happens in front of potential allies and–”

Aethelwulf raises his hand to stop him.

“Breathe, Athelstan. Whatever happened, I’m sure you didn’t mess up. Athelstan, listen to me.” Aethelwulf frames his face with both hands. “There is nothing wrong with you. What is wrong is that you are punished for not giving children to an aging man who –if you ask me– couldn’t have children with anyone now.”

“He had you. He can have children, it’s just… I can’t.”

“Fine. You won’t change your mind, whatever I say.”

Of course Athelstan isn’t going to change his mind: he is right. And he doesn’t have time for this conversation which could last hours –it did once– since there is a scroll waiting for him.

***

Ragnar can’t wait for that dinner. His mind remains focused on the king’s omega, even when he is sitting with Lagertha and King Horik to discuss Ecbert’s offer. Night finally comes and they return to the castle, this time joined by Torstein and Floki. The soldiers still look wary of them but at least they don’t draw out their swords.  
The dining hall is full of people, and most look at the Vikings with curiosity rather than fear or wariness. The king is already at his table, the former hostage – his son, Ragnar believes – sitting at his left. There is an empty chair at his right and this must be Athelstan’s.

“Please, sit here,” Ecbert says.

Looks like Athelstan has been teaching him new words. They sit at the king’s table, already covered with exotic dishes. It smells of herbs and meat, but it isn’t as good as the smell which reaches Ragnar when Athelstan comes in. The young man sits in a rush, muttering what must be an apology to the king.  
They start eating, Athelstan translating the conversation between the Northmen and the king. Well, mainly between Ragnar and the king. Ecbert often strokes his husband’s hand and displays some gestures of affection and in these moments, they look like a perfect couple. Until someone hands over a dish to Athelstan –Ragnar can’t find out what animal it used to be– and the king prevents him from taking it. He whispers something in Athelstan’s ear and the young man blushes. He pushes the dish away from his plate and earns a dazzling smile from the king, who now speaks aloud to the whole table. Whatever he says, the Englishmen all find a sudden interest in the contents of their plates and the king’s son –Aethelwulf, as he presented himself– hisses something to his father. Ecbert waves his hand and takes a sip from his cup, eyes trained on Athelstan.

“The king advises you not to give this dish to your wife or your omega if you want children,” Athelstan says after a hesitation. “Otherwise you will end being stuck with a barren mare…” Athelstan glances at the king and takes a small breath before looking back at Ragnar. “Like me.”

Ragnar is at a loss of words. Even King Horik seems taken aback.

“Did he have one too many drinks?” Largertha asks, clutching at her knife despite her calm tone.

“Or is he keen on humiliating you?” Ragnar adds.

“I’m not translating that,” Athelstan replies. He says something to Ecbert before turning his attention back to Ragnar.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“That you agreed it was a witty remark. Now, if you could laugh. He won’t believe me otherwise.”

Ragnar forces a chuckle out of his throat and raises his cup to Ecbert. So much for the perfect couple. The rest of the dinner is quiet, but Athelstan doesn’t smile once and he is the first to leave the table when they say their goodbyes. The king’s son follows him two seconds later. Ragnar would give a lot to be able to do so.

***

“Athelstan! Wait!”

Aethelwulf reaches him right when Athelstan opens the door of the bedroom he shares with Ecbert.

“I’m tired,” Athelstan says, leaning against the door.

“My father was awful to you tonight. Why don’t you go to your room?”

“He drank too much. My heat is coming in a few days, it makes him edgy.”

“He doesn’t have to be cruel!”

They both start when Aethelwulf bangs his fist on the thick door.

“We all need rest,” Athelstan tells him. “Goodnight.”

Athelstan slips inside the room and closes the door without waiting for Aethelwulf’s answer. He takes off his robe and hesitates to put the nightgown on, before deciding against it. Maybe Ecbert will like feeling his naked body against him. He slides under the furs, curling towards Ecbert’s side of the bed. It doesn’t take long for the king to join him. He flops down on the mattress, still clothed.

“I’m sorry, Athelstan. I did not mean to mock you.”

Athelstan is about to say that it is fine, it doesn’t matter, but it would be a lie. He plasters himself against the king and rakes his nails on his blond beard.

“Please don’t drink so much,” he whispers in Ecbert’s neck.

The king brings the fur a little over Athelstan’s naked shoulder and strokes his braided hair.

“Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have talked to you the way I did today.”

It is too easy, yet Athelstan can’t resist. “You’re forgiven.”

He nips at Ecbert’s earlobe while he starts unlacing the cowl of his robe. His mouth wanders to the king’s jaw, then to his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Ecbert chuckles, trying to bat him away.

“Making love to you.”

“It’s late, Athelstan.”

Athelstan kisses the corner of Ecbert’s mouth. The king gives a contended hum, but he still doesn’t move.

“You barely touch me these days,” Athelstan says.

“What about last month? I spent hours touching you.”

“That’s not the same. You were doing your duty.”

Athelstan says it as a joke, but it is the truth. He feels like being a duty nowadays. Ecbert pats his cheek as if he were a child and turns on his side to press Athelstan against him.

“Well, you’re my favourite duty, Athelstan. I wish we could spend more time together, but I have a kingdom to rule.”

Athelstan draws back to look him in the eye. “But I need you.”

God, he didn’t mean to sound so pathetic. He waits for an answer, however Ecbert’s breathing is already slowing down. Athelstan presses a kiss on his slightly parted lips and lets his head fall back on the mattress. He tries to sleep, but his traitorous mind keeps wandering to the last events. To the Northmen. The tall blond one in particular, Ragnar Lothbrok. Now that he thinks about it, Athelstan doesn’t mind his flirting, even though he had feared Ecbert would understand during the meeting. Moreover, he hasn’t mocked Athelstan during dinner. Many alphas would have, considering the topic. An omega unable to have children is a disgrace, Athelstan heard the king say it to his counsel once. He wasn’t aware Athelstan could hear him at that time, but it had hurt the same. It still does.  
Yet Ragnar Lothbrok is different. Of course, he sent him hungry looks – when the king couldn’t see them – but he seemed to honestly sympathize with Athelstan this evening. It wasn’t pity, only concern. Some anger, perhaps.  
Oh, and his scent. Athelstan smelled it the moment Ragnar set foot in the room this morning. A strong, comforting smell. Athelstan surprised himself liking it more than Ecbert’s. It had more appeal.

Athelstan shakes his head on his pillow. He must not spend more time than necessary with Ragnar Lothbrok, it will only bring more trouble. Athelstan doesn’t need that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the dubious consent tag because of the whole heat concept, just to be safe.

Athelstan is awaken by a soft hand shaking his shoulder. His sleepy mind revels in the thought that it might be Ecbert, waiting for him to open his eyes before rolling above him and kissing him. He used to do that, long ago.  
Athelstan stretches and blinks. The king isn’t here, but Aethelwulf’s hand is still warm on his skin. The king’s son grins.

“Time to wake up. My father needs you.”

That’s new, Ecbert rarely needs him. At least not so early. Athelstan sits up, gathering the fur around his shoulders. He hates leaving the warmth of the bed.

“Why the bright smile?” Athelstan mutters.

“Don’t be grumpy, you won’t regret getting up early,” Aethelwulf replies as he hands him his robe. “You won’t be copying dusty scrolls today.”

Athelstan’s heart leaps in his chest. He likes his work, but that’s all he has been doing for weeks. He hasn’t left the safety of the castle since the Northmen arrived.

“Am I allowed to go outside again?”

Aethelwulf’s smile fades a little. “Not yet, I’m afraid. But I will talk to my father about it. No, you’re going to spend the morning with Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Athelstan is cursed. He can’t think of another explanation.

“Why?” he croaks.

“You are the only one able to communicate with the Northmen. We have to change that if we want to have them as allies.”

“Does he agree?”

“Well, Father already sent someone to bring him to the castle. I suppose we will find out soon. If you ask me, I don’t think he would say no to language lessons with you.”

And here the grin reappears. Athelstan sends him a stern look.

“You’re not funny. Anyway, why would the king leave me alone with another alpha?”

“Testing his new ally’s loyalty, I guess. Would it be so surprising?”

Athelstan shrugs. No, it wouldn’t be. In fact, it might be Ecbert’s plan. Athelstan pushes away the displeasing thought that maybe the king is also putting his omega’s loyalty to the test.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

As if he had a choice.

***

Ragnar Lothbrok is waiting for Athelstan in an empty room, with only one guard outside. Yes, Ecbert is testing them. Athelstan knows that he isn’t one to give his trust so easily. Ragnar smiles when Athelstan comes in. It is an easy smile, brightest than when Ecbert is with them. Of course. They sit around a table, and Athelstan maintains a safe distance between them. The alpha’s scent already makes him feel a bit dizzy. It is quite strange – Ecbert’s scent never had this effect on him, except during his heats. Athelstan decides not to think too much about this.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Ragnar asks with a teasing grin.

Athelstan is lost for a second, and then he realises that no one could have been able to explain the concept of English lessons to Ragnar.

“I’m supposed to teach you our language. If you agree.”

Ragnar props his chin on his hands, staring at Athelstan with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I certainly don’t mind.”

“Very well, we’ll start with the presentations.”

“Yes. Tell me more about you. How can you speak our language?”

Athelstan chuckles despite himself.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Ragnar doesn’t move and it is obvious he isn’t going to back down. Maybe the lesson can be postponed. It has been a long time since Athelstan had the opportunity to speak with someone outside of the castle and if he is honest with himself, he has to admit he also wants to learn more about Ragnar.

“Very well, Ragnar Lothbrok,” he replies, crossing his hands on the table. “When I was younger, I used to live in a monastery. I was too young to go into heat–” and Athelstan tries not to blush here, “so no one knew I was an omega. I travelled with older monks. That’s how I learned your language.”

“Yes, but then how did you know we were speaking this language? You didn’t hear us talk until yesterday.”

“I made a guess. I asked some soldiers to describe you, your clothes, your ships. How your language sounds. It wouldn’t hurt to try, so I wrote the sounds of the words and I taught the envoy how to pronounce them. We don’t use the same writing,” Athelstan adds, but Ragnar seems to have already set his mind on another question.

“If you lived in a… monastery, as you say, how did you end up with King Ecbert?”

Athelstan can’t help laughing. He is himself eager to learn about pretty much everything, but he never believed Ragnar would question him like an excited child. Athelstan holds up a hand to slow the Northman down. He might have found a way to teach and entertain at the same time.

“I will answer your questions every time you can pronounce an English sentence or word correctly. The King wouldn’t like it if you came up tonight not knowing a single new word.”

Athelstan means it as a joke, but Ragnar’s face crunches up in a grimace. He leans forward, his eyes boring into Athelstan’s.

“I swear if he hurts you for this…”

“No, he wouldn’t, I was only joking. Please, don’t worry.”

“He doesn’t treat you well.”

“We may have rough times, but I assure you we’re fine. Back to our lesson,” Athelstan adds with a smile.

Ragnar opens his mouth to retort but seems to think better of it and straightens in his seat, waiting for Athelstan to talk. The teaching goes as Athelstan planned it, and this is how Ragnar learns that the monks went to Ecbert when Athelstan had his first heat, not knowing what to do with him. The king having lost his wife recently, he took the young omega as his new mate. That was three years ago, and still no child.

“Is this why he started acting like a jerk?” Ragnar asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Athelstan frowns at the insult, yet he has trouble finding something to say. It’s not that he doesn’t have arguments –he fears they won’t be convincing enough for the Northman. He has to try nonetheless.

“You don’t understand, Ragnar Lothbrok. King Ecbert took me as his husband to assert his strength regarding his rivals. He has a successor, but as an aging man, he has to prove he still has vigour. At least, that is how he sees it –I don’t think you need to have children to prove you can rule your kingdom. Anyways, I have been unable to provide him with a child. People start talking. You’re an alpha, you must know what it would be like if your omega didn’t give you children.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to have ‘my’ omega. My wives aren’t omegas.”

“Your… wives?”

“Lagertha isn’t my wife anymore, but I have another one back home. Yet let me tell you that I wouldn’t treat an omega the way your king does.”

They always come back to this. It is late anyway, and Athelstan gets up to leave, giving Ragnar a little bow.

“Well, Ragnar Lothbrok, we are done for today. You’d better practice for tonight, I’m sure the king will love hearing your progress.”

Athelstan wants to wink, but it may be misinterpreted, so the teasing tone will have to do. Ragnar nods and before Athelstan has time to process what he is doing, the Northman catches his hand, preventing him from turning away. A tickling feeling goes through Athelstan’s body, accompanied with a shiver.

“Wait–”

Ragnar doesn’t finish his sentence, and that’s how Athelstan knows he feels it too. The omega jerks his hand away, rubbing it while he sends a disbelieving look at the Northman. Yet another thing he has never experienced before. It is scary, more than anything. It is scary because it feels natural, Athelstan realises. It is as if his body liked it, even though his mind is at a loss.

“I… I must go,” Athelstan babbles.

He almost runs out of the room, leaving Ragnar with his hand still in mid-air. 

***

Athelstan generally calms himself by copying scrolls. It is a long task, which requires patience and concentration, and that is the very reason he loves it. He also spends a lot of time reading the scrolls over and over again without copying them, but no one needs to hear about that.  
Yet today it doesn’t work, Athelstan can’t relax. His hand keeps shaking and he only manages to spill ink on the parchment. He can’t stop thinking about Ragnar’s calloused fingers on his skin. The mere thought of it sends tingles in his lower belly, and this is wrong. So wrong. Athelstan has a mate. He has an alpha and he shouldn’t be thinking about anyone else.  
Athelstan grunts and tears his eyes off the scroll he attempted to study. He glances outside. Damn, the sun is almost down. He is late for dinner again. If he is lucky, Ecbert won’t make any snide remark.

When Athelstan arrives at the table, all their guests are already seated. Ragnar is saying basic sentences to Ecbert, the ones Athelstan taught him this morning. Ecbert is beaming. Athelstan slides on his chair, and the king greets him with a wide grin.

“Ah, Athelstan, you did a great work today.” Athelstan blushes and it gets worse when the king leans into his ear to whisper, “you make me proud.”

Ecbert plants a firm kiss on Athelstan’s forehead before turning his attention back to the Northmen. Indeed, he must be quite proud –such loving gestures in public are a rare thing. Athelstan doesn’t mean to, yet he glances at Ragnar, whose eyes are trained on his face. The young man looks away, fidgeting on his seat to adjust his robe. Dinner is nice for once, and the fact that Ecbert talks a lot with Ragnar gives Athelstan an excuse to look at the Northman. His gaze would be drawn to him anyway, he can’t help it. However, as he is in the middle of a sentence, Athelstan starts feeling a tingling in his lower belly. He blinks, pausing for a second before he decides to ignore it.

“As I was saying, King Ecbert will try to… oh.”

Athelstan stops talking and his eyes widen in horror. He can feel this too familiar slick fluid seeping between his legs. And his smell –the whole hall must be able to scent him by now.

“I… uh, I…” he babbles, unable to find anything to say. The heat is already clouding his mind. Yet he shouldn’t be in heat, it isn’t due before at least four days.

Athelstan is petrified. He always manages to lock himself away when the heat approaches and almost no one has ever seen him like this, apart from Ecbert. Now a bunch of Northmen stares at him, expressions going from surprised to hungry.  
Athelstan jumps on his seat when a hand squeezes his upper arm. The touch is soft and hesitant, made to comfort him, and that’s the only reason Athelstan doesn’t jerk his arm away. There are so many alpha scents around him, he is having trouble to focus.  
When Athelstan turns his head, he remembers that Aethelwulf is sitting next to him tonight, and indeed, it is his hand on Athelstan’s arm. His lips are moving. Maybe he is saying something. Athelstan doesn’t know, he can only concentrate on the wetness increasing between his legs, and on his thighs parting a little on their own accord. He might be panting too. The hand squeezes harder on his arm and Athelstan strives to focus on Aethelwulf.

“Athelstan. Athelstan, I’ll take you to your room,” Aethelwulf says, trying to get his attention without raising his voice. It isn’t of much use, since everyone is looking at them.

Athelstan nods and pushes himself up on shaky legs. Aethelwulf keeps his hand on him, steadying Athelstan and ready to catch him if he loses balance. Athelstan doesn’t even consider excusing himself as they make their way out.

***

Ecbert smells the changes in Athelstan’s scent a split second before fluids start leaking out of him. Athelstan stops talking and he looks like a surprised deer. A quick glance at Ragnar Lothbork’s dilated pupils tells Ecbert that the Northman also smells it. All the alphas must be in such a state by now, and the king can’t help feeling proud of what he has. Oh, all of them would love to have Athelstan here and then, but he isn’t theirs to take. He belongs to Ecbert and no one else.

Aethelwulf leads Athlestan out of the room and Ecbert doesn’t want to lose more time than necessary. He is in a positive mood today. Even though each new heat reminds him of their countless failures to conceive a child, tonight Ecbert wants to believe they will succeed.

He gets up, a bright smile on his face.

“Please excuse me, my duty calls me.”

None of the Northmen can grasp the meaning of his words, but they seem to understand him anyway. Ecbert gives a little bow to Ragnar Lothbrok, who nods in return, his jaw a bit too tense. If the bishop weren’t here, Ecbert wouldn’t resist bouncing out of the hall. Instead, he straightens his robe and keeps a measured pace as he leaves.

Ecbert reaches his bedroom right when Aethelwulf gets out of it. His hair is a bit ruffled and he takes a calming breath, but otherwise he doesn’t seem troubled. Ecbert has always been amazed by his son’s capacity to remain almost unaffected by Athelstan’s heats –considering he is an alpha.

“Athelstan is waiting for you, Father.”

Ecbert pushes the door open but his son grabs his sleeve to stop him. What is it now? Ecbert would love having a father-son talk, however a rich scent reaches his nose and his cock stirs.

“Be kind to him, Father. He needs you.”

“Don’t worry,” Ecbert replies, even though what he really wants to say is that when a king has a kingdom and a mate to manage, he has to make choices. Well, they already had that talk a long time ago. Perhaps not so long ago, Ecbert can’t quite remember.

With one last pat on his son’s shoulder, Ecbert goes into the bedroom and locks the door behind him. The room is filled with Athelstan’s scent and it takes a lot of willpower not to bounce on him right now. It would be easy –Athelstan is writhing on the bed, half rutting on the mattress and half struggling to remove his clothes. It is somewhat adorable.

Athelstan shivers when Ecbert runs a hand through his black curls. The young man turns on his side as Ecbert sits next to him and takes two of the king’s fingers in his mouth. It becomes painful to wait and it is probably worse for Athelstan, yet Ecbert loves taking some time to admire him. He hasn’t done that for a long time, and it is a shame. Athelstan is beautiful. Ecbert uses his free hand to stroke his hair and Athelstan leans into his touch, inching his body towards Ecbert’s. Yes, he is beautiful. Their children would be too, no doubt about that. Ecbert’s fingers tighten on Athelstan’s hair, tearing a whimper out of his omega.

“Please…”

Athelstan squirms to get out of his robe, and Ecbert realises one of his arms is stuck between the sleeve and the collar.

“Oh, Athelstan,” he chuckles, moving to undress him. “You’re always so eager for me.”

The few candles in the room cast warm, flickering lights on Athelstan’s naked body. His thighs are slick with self-lubricating fluid. Ecbert’s hand hovers over Athelstan’s too flat belly. Then he flattens his palm on it and Athelstan moans, both hands flying up to grip Ecbert’s wrist.

“Please,” Athelstan repeats.

“Begging suits you. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Yes, yes please take me!”

Once they would have played much longer like this, and Athelstan’s lips would have curled up in a smile. Sometimes Ecbert regrets those times. Today there is only desperation in his tone and his eyes don’t have their teasing glint anymore. Maybe Ecbert is responsible for it, maybe he should have done some things in a different way. The fact that he can think about this while his omega is leaking beneath him is tale-telling.

Ecbert gets rid of his own robe with a swift movement and throws it on the floor. As he leans down above Athelstan, the omega tries to turn on his stomach, but Ecbert maintains him on his back and grinds their hips together. Athelstan arches off the mattress, eyes clouded.

“I want to see you, Athelstan.”

“Yes… b-but…”

Ecbert presses their cocks together again and Athelstan’s objection turns into a whimper as he throws his face aside. They almost never mate in this position, since it is far from being Athelstan’s favourite.  
Ecbert doesn’t even probe at Athelstan’s entrance to check if he is ready, he knows he is. He puts his hands under the omega’s knees and pushes his legs up as he lines his cock with Athelstan’s entrance.

“God, you’re astounding,” Ecbert hisses as he pushes in.

It is still a bit tight, but Athelstan doesn’t seem to be in too much discomfort. One advantage of the heat. Ecbert’s weight pushes Athelstan’s legs further against his chest, and yes, he is so astounding bent in half like this. Athelstan pants, looking up at him pleadingly. He is pleading to be fucked, but there is something else in his eyes. The shadow of a different need, so strong even the heat can’t wipe it away. A need Ecbert believes –fears– he can’t satisfy.

Ecbert thrusts forward, harsh, hoping that his omega’s eyes will screw shut. His eyelids flutter yet Athelstan keeps staring at him. The king grunts and speeds up his thrusts, gripping Athelstan’s hair to bare his throat. He bends down and bites the thin skin of his neck –at least he doesn’t have to look into those eyes anymore. Being between Athelstan’s thighs is a wonderful feeling Ecbert doesn’t want to spoil. He plants his elbows in the mattress, threading his fingers between his omega’s braids, and pauses for a second to catch his breath. God, he isn’t twenty anymore.   
Ecbert circles his hips slowly without pulling out, the movement stretching Athelstan around him. He goes on like this for a while, until Athelstan’s whole body begins shaking. The king chooses this moment to change his rhythm, giving a powerful thrust without warning. Athelstan lets out a strangled yelp, his nails raking Ecbert’s shoulders. Ecbert keeps this new pace, with fewer thrusts but more strength. If his omega didn’t have the heat-induced fluids, it would be painful. He bears down on Athelstan’s waist, preventing any attempt to lift his hips off the mattress. This new contact traps Athelstan’s cock between their bodies, adding a friction that makes the omega whimper endlessly. Soon Athelstan buries his fingers in Ecbert’s scalp, pulling on some hair, and the King feels his cock throbbing between their chests, and come splatters on their skins.  
Ecbert raises his head, risking a glance at Athelstan. He has his eyes closed, and looks almost peaceful with his head lolling aside after each of Ecbert’s thrusts. It won’t last long however –Ecbert can feel his knot swelling. Athelstan frowns, eyes still closed, and the muscles of his neck stiffen. From experience, Ecbert knows what is coming and he catches Athelstan wrists in one hand to pin them above his head. His own pleasure starts clouding his mind, and it is hard to form a consistent sentence.

“Relax, Athelstan. H-how many times have I told you?”

Ecbert doesn’t expect an answer and he doesn’t get one, apart from a tiny groan. Athelstan wriggles under him, trying to unfold his legs. Ecbert presses his palm on one thigh.

“Don’t move, it’s okay,” he whispers in Athelstan’s ear.

His knot is thickening now and even though he keeps thrusting, he can barely pull out of Athelstan. The omega tenses despite the king’s advice, and he does try to buck him off.

“It hurts,” Athelstan whimpers. “Let me turn over.”

“It is too late, Athelstan.”

Changing positions wouldn’t make such a difference anyway, god knows they tried. No matter how they do it, the knot hurts Athelstan, something Ecbert never thought could be possible. His hips stutter and his come fills Athelstan while pleasure washes over him. His knot keeps them locked together and he lets go of his hands now that the omega can’t go anywhere. Athelstan only moves to lower his legs, which must be stiff by now, and winces at the strain it brings on his entrance.

“It hurts less than usual,” he states once he catches his breath, but Ecbert can spot the lie.

He honestly regrets that mating brings Athelstan such pain. They may not be a perfect couple, yet Ecbert doesn’t wish to hurt him. He even sought the advice of a physician, who told him they might suffer a physical incompatibility. Ecbert had laughed at that time, and he still laughs today. There is no such thing as physical incompatibility between an alpha and an omega. Athelstan was made to be fucked and to have children, that’s his purpose. Thus, Ecbert can’t believe their problem is a physical one. No, their problem may be that deep down Athelstan rejects him, and it is worse. Ecbert can’t help resenting him for that possibility. They don’t have to be soul mates to have children but a weak relationship might affect their capacities.

Ecbert strokes Athelstan’s forehead, who relaxes around his cock. He isn’t frowning anymore, and Ecbert seizes the opportunity to cradle him against his chest and turn on his back. Athelstan sprawls over him and buries his face in his neck, shifting a little like a cat trying to find the best sleeping position. Ecbert wouldn’t mind more moments like this. He wouldn’t say no to more tenderness, but he knows that such desires will disappear as soon as Athelstan tells him he isn’t pregnant. Again. Maybe their relationship is harmful after all, though they loved each other once. At least, Ecbert thinks he did love Athelstan in his own way.


	3. Chapter 3

Athelstan’s heat lasts for two days. He wakes up alone in the king’s room on the third morning, pleased to note that his skin isn’t on fire and that his thighs are dry. Ecbert isn’t with him, but it is not a surprise –Athelstan could swear he left at the exact moment his heat stopped.

Athelstan sighs and stretches, tangled in the sheets, stifling a groan when his knee connects with a damp spot. He pushes himself up on his arms to stretch his back, and he hears a few vertebras creaking. After a quick look around the bedroom, Athelstan spots a clean robe folded on the back of a chair. Time to get ready for his other duties.

Someone knocks on the door as he finishes dressing up.

“Come in,” Athelstan says, voice a bit rough.

The door opens and Aethelwulf pokes his head in. Athelstan suddenly remembers Aethelwulf helped him to the room when his heat started. Oh. He also remembers leaking in front of the whole hall. Great.

“How do you feel?” Aethelwulf asks.

“Tired. Probably not pregnant.”

Though Athelstan doesn’t know how he would feel once pregnant. Would he feel it right after the heat, or would he have to wait for some symptoms? No one told him.

Aethelwulf comes in and puts his arms around Athelstan’s shoulders, shaking him a little.

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll have a tiny you running around soon enough.”

Athelstan would love to be so confident.

“In the meantime,” Aethelwulf adds, “you’re needed elsewhere. Ragnar Lothbrok still needs some lessons.”

Damn it, Athelstan had forgotten about the lessons, even though the Northman was very present in his mind during these last heated days. Now Athelstan has to sit in front of him and keep a straight face while they talk about English grammar. His life is getting better every day.

***

Athelstan looks exhausted. That’s the first thought crossing Ragnar’s mind when he lays eyes on him. Ragnar feels a rush of possessiveness overwhelming him. He would have given many things to be the one spending the last two days with Athelstan, to be the one giving him the bite that left bright marks on his throat. A bite too high to hide and Ragnar is sure this isn’t only the result of a heated mating. No, it isn’t the mark of a passion –Ecbert doesn’t strike him as the passionate type– but more like a warning. A reminder of who Athelstan belongs to. The question is, is the reminder for Athelstan or someone else? Ragnar already knows the answer. Never mind, it doesn’t prevent him from wanting to jump over the table and cover that bite mark with kisses.

After an hour spent learning and repeating strange words, Ragnar has to indulge his curiosity.

“So, how were your days?”

Athelstan coughs, his cheeks turning a bright red.

“Is that a question you tend to ask an omega after a heat?”

Athelstan’s face is a wonderful mix of innocence and exasperation. Ragnar shrugs.

“I’ve never had the opportunity to ask before. I just wanted to talk about something which is not English.”

“Well, we can talk about the weather. It is bright today, quite unusual.”

“You are a more interesting topic than the weather,” Ragnar replies, leaning forward. He didn’t intent to say it in such a low voice, but he did. Athelstan blinks and crosses his arms.

“I’m married.”

“Yes, to a man who doesn’t deserve you, you mentioned that already.”

Athelstan uncrosses his arms and leans forward too, putting his hands firmly on the table. Ragnar would only have to stretch his arm a little to brush his fingers.

“You don’t know anything about us, Ragnar Lothbrok. You don’t know if he deserves me, or if I deserve him. It is none of your business.”

“You’re pretty when you get angry.”

Whatever Athelstan was planning to say, he doesn’t. He stares at the Northman, squinting his eyes, and Ragnar suspects he is trying to find out if that was a joke or not.

“You’re always pretty, but being angry adds something to you,” Ragnar says. He moves his hand to graze his nails against Athelstan’s fingers, never looking away from him. “I can’t be the first to tell you you’re pretty, right?”

Ragnar expects the young man to recoil when he touches him, but nothing happens. Athelstan keeps eyeing him like he sees him for the first time.

“No one told me in such a way,” Athelstan confesses.

Ragnar shakes his head. This man should be told every new dawn how beautiful he is. Ragnar rakes his nails along Athelstan’s palm, drawing a small gasp out of him. Athelstan withdraws his hand, rubbing the spot Ragnar had been stroking with his thumb.

“But being pretty isn’t the only thing that matters,” Athelstan counters.

“I agree. Being a pretty, clever and open-minded man is even more attractive. I like that about you.”

Now it is Athelstan’s turn to shake his head.

“No, I’ll tell you what you like about me. You love challenges –you wouldn’t be here otherwise, so far from your home– and I am a whole new challenge. Me, the weak omega who needs to be rescued from his alpha.”

“His abusive alpha,” Ragnar corrects, and for a second Athelstan looks like he is on the verge of slapping him. “And I don’t think you’re weak.”

“He isn’t abusive.”

“You think so? What is he going to do when he finds out you’re not pregnant?”

“Nothing!” Athelstan exclaims. “He won’t do anything. Now, this conversation is over. Another word and you can be sure this will be our last lesson.”

They both know it is an empty threat –the king would never allow such a thing. Yet Ragnar doesn’t press the matter and they go back to studying the correct use of English pronouns.

When Ragnar comes back to camp that day, his mind is still processing what happened earlier. Athelstan completely cut him off after their argument, which Ragnar regrets. Perhaps he shouldn’t have broached such a sensitive subject.

Lagertha finds him like that, sitting on a barrel and frowning at himself. She takes a seat on a stool in front of him, smirking.

“You’re brooding. Again.”

“I do not brood.”

“Yes, you do. It is an art you seem to be perfecting every day since we met Ecbert.”

There is no point arguing with her, and Ragnar has had enough arguing for today.

“It’s Athelstan,” he confesses. “I feel drawn to him in a way I can’t explain.”

“I thought it was mere lust,” Lagertha replies, and she already has her scolding tone. “Even if it is not, be careful Ragnar. Our new alliance is frail. We can’t afford you fucking the king’s mate.” Ragnar shoots her a dark look, which she ignores. “Besides, even with a strong alliance, I don’t think we can afford that. Ever.”

“It’s not just about fucking.”

“Then it is even worse. Don’t. Attempt. Anything,” she adds, waving a menacing forefinger. “Horik will be insufferable if he hears about your… desires, and we will be in deep shit. Don’t do anything.”

***

Ragnar doesn’t attempt anything for three months, and it doesn’t suit him at all. It’s not that Athestan has been giving him the cold shoulder –his anger didn’t last for two days. They even joke over their mutual language mistakes, and Athelstan’s smiles are genuine now. They spend a lot of time discussing each other’s culture. As Ragnar expected, Athelstan is always eager to learn more. Ragnar seeks and treasures the moments the young man’s eyes will widen with wonder as he tells him a story about Valhalla, or anything involving his country. Ragnar often wonders if Athelstan sees their gods’ stories as mere myths, considering how much he values his own weird god. He doesn’t say much about it, but Ragnar caught sight of him clutching the silver cross around his neck many times. Whenever the king drinks too much and says something inappropriate, for example.

Ragnar hates remaining silent in such cases. He hates behaving like he finds it entertaining, although he has become good at it. Lagertha doesn’t need to stomp on his feet anymore. Oh, and Ragnar also hates the aftermath of Athelstan’s heats. Ecbert is always harsher during the following days and Athelstan only starts smiling again when Ragnar purposely –or not– mispronounces a word to make it sound funny. Sometimes the Northman manages to make him laugh, and that’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

Today’s lesson isn’t so enjoyable. Athelstan has been tense all along, and nothing Ragnar said changed that.

“What is troubling you?” Ragnar asks after Athelstan glances at the window for the tenth time. There is nothing peculiar outside, apart from the dark winter sky and the clouds which could bring snow very soon.

“Our guest should arrive any time now,” Athelstan replies while he glances again at the window.

“Who is that guest, to make you so nervous?”

“I’m not…” Athelstan’s first reaction is to snap, however his face softens when he looks back at Ragnar. “Well, Princess Kwenthrith of Mercia is paying us a visit. For political reasons,” he adds when Ragnar quirks an interrogative eyebrow. “I tend to be nervous when we have such visits. You never know what is going to happen.”

Athlestan looks away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, hard enough to leave marks in the sensitive flesh. Ragnar wants to take his hand –he would do more, but that’s probably not allowed– yet he hesitates. Last time Ragnar did that was three months ago and he doesn’t know how Athelstan would react. Damn it, he spent enough time doing nothing. He reaches out slowly enough for Athelstan to back away, but the young man doesn’t move. To Ragnar’s surprise, he is the one to tighten his hold when their fingers connect. They remain like this for a long time in a comfortable silence.

“If your welcoming party gets too boring, you can come back to our camp,” Ragnar eventually suggests.

“Be careful, I could take you at your word.”

“I hope so.”

“You are invited to the boring party, by the way.”

***

Ecbert feels he is going to like Princess Kwenthrith the moment she passes the gate of the castle. She only has a few horsemen following her yet she is royal, riding on her white horse with a sassy smirk. She looks like she owns the place and Ecbert loves that.

“So, this is our fratricide?” Athelstan whispers to Aethelwulf.

Oh yes, a lovely fratricide. Ecbert can’t wait to find out if the Princess has as much spirit as it seems. From her smell, he can tell she is a regular human but otherwise he could have sworn she is an alpha.  
Ecbert risks a glance at Athelstan, but his face is carefully blank. They haven’t talked much about Kwenthrith or what her presence may imply. It is clear Athelstan is wary of this visit, but Ecbert doesn’t know if that is because of Kwenthrith’s presence or the potential political consequences. To be honest, none of them is willing to dwell too much on the topic. Ecbert isn’t at least, and Athelstan can be hard to read sometimes.

Ecbert takes a step forward and extends his arms in a welcoming gesture as Kwenthrith dismounts her horse.

“Princess. We’ve been impatiently waiting for your arrival.”

Kwenthrith stops in front of Ecbert and eyes him up and down, ignoring the crowd watching them.

“Me too, King Ecbert. I hope our time together will be pleasurable.”

Ecbert hopes Athelstan doesn’t catch the emphasize on the last word.

“I can’t see these Northmen you mentioned in your letters,” Kwenthrith adds while glancing around.

“Don’t worry, I will send an envoy soon to fetch their leaders. I’m sure you will like them.”

As Ecbert raises his hand to guide Kwenthrith towards the castle, the one person he didn’t want to hear speaks up.

“I will go.”

His hand freezes in the air. He doesn’t have to turn to recognize that voice, and the sound of these light footsteps coming nearer is unmistakable. Athelstan stops next to him and nods at Kwenthrith with a smile.

“I will go to the Northmen’s camp,” he says, turning to Ecbert.

Ecbert should have expected it, why is he even surprised? Athelstan always picks up the perfect moment to provoke him.

“Athelstan, I don’t think it would be reasonable. We have to be careful with your health.”

“Considering I am not pregnant, I won’t risk hurting a potential baby. And you said it yourself, we have to be careful with my health. I think some fresh air is much needed.”

Athelstan makes an art of using Ecbert’s arguments against him, which can be either adorable, or exasperating, depending on the context. Right now, it is exasperating. Kwenthrith’s amused stare doesn’t improve Ecbert’s situation.

“I suppose you want to go alone?” he asks Athelstan, forcing a smile on his lips.

“Oh, no. Aethelwulf agreed to go with me.”

Apparently, this battle is lost. They will have to talk about it later.

“You seem so eager to go, I can’t deny you this pleasure. As you can see, Princess Kwenthrith, my son and my husband spend a lot of time plotting against me.”

“I would be glad to become your new ally, then,” Kwenthrith replies.

Yes, this is going to be interesting.

***

Athelstan hasn’t been on a horse for months. He isn’t the most experienced rider in Wessex –the king doesn’t allow him to ride often, but he loves it.

As they cross the woods, Athelstan closes his eyes and savours every second. He missed it so much. He missed hearing the soft sounds of the hooves hitting the ground, feeling the muscles of the horse moving under him. Everything is so much easier with horses. They don’t judge Athelstan for failing his king and he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells with them. Really, it is relaxing.

“I hope my father won’t misinterpret your initiative,” Aethelwulf says after a while.

“There is nothing to misinterpret. I spare him the task of sending an envoy, nothing more.”

“You know how he is sometimes. He might have felt like you forced his hand, and he hates that.”

“I did not…”

Maybe he did. That wasn’t his first intention, Athelstan only wanted to leave the castle for a while. Since someone needed to go to the Northmen, he might as well do it. He did force the king’s hand a bit, but it didn’t seem to be such a big deal at the time. Athelstan shrugs –worrying won’t change anything. He will see what happens when he comes back. With Kwenthrith’s visit, Ecbert might as well forget about it. Athelstan doesn’t truly believe that, but one can hope.

They arrive at the Northmen’s camp sooner than Athelstan expects. One of the warriors recognizes him –the blond one with the laughing eyes and the thick bird– and waves before disappearing between the tents.

“They seem to like you,” Aethelwulf tells him. “They don’t wave at me, yet I spent more time with them than you did.”

Athelstan chuckles at his solemn expression.

“I bet you spent that time brooding on a stool, looking like a grumpy old bear.”

“For your information, I was sitting on a damn log. And I am not grumpy.”

The blond Northman comes back with the three leaders. Lagertha smiles at them, while Horik seems to have a hard time containing a snort. On the other hand, Ragnar is beaming.

“Athelstan!” he exclaims, coming up to them. He pats the neck of Athelstan’s horse with his large palm, and the gesture is oddly soft for a hand hardened by battles. “Your feast hasn’t begun and you’re already here? Are they so boring?”

Athelstan can’t contain his grin, and at that Ragnar’s smile widens so much laughing lines appear at the corner of his eyes.

“We’re here to tell you that you can come to the castle any time now.”

Ragnar strokes the shoulder of the horse, his hand getting closer to Athelstan’s knee. Aethelwulf can’t see it from where he is and besides, he is too caught up in a staring contest with King Horik to notice. As for Lagertha, she only lets out a little sigh.

“Then we’re coming. You will have an escort on the way back.”

“Oh and why would I need an escort?”

Athelstan shouldn’t tease, but he can’t help it. Moreover, Ragnar seems more than happy to play along.

“A pretty thing like you isn’t safe in the woods.”

“But I would be safe with you?”

Athelstan lowers his voice, and he is pretty sure the other Northmen can’t hear him.

“Yes. Always,” Ragnar whispers, and his fingers slip under the hem of Athelstan’s robe.

Athelstan’s heart beats louder and he tries to refrain from shaking when the fingers squeeze the back of his knee. He shouldn’t let Ragnar do that, he doesn’t even know why he felt the urge to tease in the first place. But he finds himself enjoying Ragnar’s sudden boldness.

“I doubt it,” Athelstan replies.

He doesn’t give Ragnar time to answer and turns his horse away, although he regrets the loss of the Northman’s hand on his leg. Aethelwulf concedes victory to King Horik and turns his horse with a displeased grunt, following Athelstan.

“Don’t be late,” Athelstan exclaims as their horses break into a gallop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The references to past non-con are at the beginning of this chapter. There is nothing graphic, they are mentioned during a dialogue.  
> Also, I added a warning for physical abuse here.

Kwenthrith hasn’t seen such a feast in a long time, and she grew amongst the royalty. No one can deny King Ecbert did his best. She crosses her legs and sits back on her seat, taking a better view of what is on display upon –and around– the table. Since King Ecbert mentioned the Northmen, she has been thinking about them as mush as she has been thinking about her diplomatic trip. Kwenthrith isn’t disappointed: the Northmen are exactly as she hoped they would be. Strong and wild. Different. Yes, that might be the most important –it could help her winning the throne of Mercia.

The young omega presents her to the Northmen. He is delicious this one, all shy and quiet, yet there seems to be outbursts of defiance in him. Not through speech, even though that little stunt in the yard was entertaining. No, the defiance resides in his eyes. It appears from time to time and doesn’t last more than a second, but Kwenthrith recognizes it. She used to look at her brother in such a way whenever he came too close to her.

“I was shocked to hear of the death of your brother,” Ecbert tells her.

Ah, speaking of her dear brother.

“Did you know that the Pope already made him a saint?” Kwenthrith replies, waving her fork. “Saint Kenelm. Apparently he lived an exemplary life. Funny, considering he raped me when I was about twelve.”

The bishop chokes on his wine, and the little omega looks at her with wide eyes. He hesitates for a second, then translates her words to the Northmen. A part of it at least, since they don’t have the concept of popes and saints. How lucky of them.

The blond woman with the sharp eyes answers something while she stares at Kwenthrith. Her face is a mix of various feelings –understanding, anger, and a little bit of sadness.

“Lagertha says that however your brother died and whatever his rank, he deserved to pay for what he did,” Asthelstan tells her.

Kwenthrith puts her fork down, a little taken back. She expected condolences for her brother, not something like this. These Northmen live up to the promise.

“May I learn more about Lagertha?” the princess asks without taking her eyes off the blond woman.

“She is an Earl,” Athelstan answers. “A high rank in her country.”

“How did she gain this rank?”

Here Athelstan has to turn back to Lagertha for more information. His interactions with the Northmen are fascinating. His voice is steadier when he speaks their rough language, and his hands no longer stay motionless on his lap. He is more natural.

Lagertha’s tone is curt as she answers, and her stare doesn’t wave once. The tall Northman –Ragnar something– sitting next to her grinds his teeth at one point, and tears his bread down into tiny bits.

“Lagertha was married to an Earl who abused her. When the abuse went too far,” and here Athelstan’s gaze flickers to Ecbert, a movement tracked by Ragnar, “she killed him. That’s how she became Earl.”

Oh. Kwenthrith’s good feeling about Lagertha is confirmed then, and the princess raises her glass to her.

“King Ecbert, were you willing to share the services of your Northmen, I would gladly have Lagertha as an ally.”

The King’s eyebrows raise so high that Kwenthrith can’t contain a giggle.

“I am surprised, Princess. I thought you would rather choose Ragnar or another warrior.”

If Ecbert didn’t expect her request, Kwenthrith totally expected his answer, and another laugh escapes her.

“Lagertha is a warrior and an Earl, sitting between a King and another Earl,” Kwenthrith replies. “Besides, she is a woman. She knows that as women, we have to fight for… well, pretty much everything.”

Athelstan doesn’t wait for the King’s answer to translate their conversation. Ecbert seems to ponder on the Princess’ words, and a wide smile stretches his lips.

“As you wish, Princess. After all, we are all gathered here for the sake of your kingdom and you know best what suits you.”

Kwenthrith’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and she clinks her cup with the King’s, catching Athelstan’s worried gaze in the process.

***

Like many other nights, Athelstan goes to bed alone. He can’t find sleep and keeps turning on the mattress. Two hours pass, and the king doesn’t join him. It never takes so long, and Ecbert’s absence confirms Athelstan’s fears. He is with the Princess. Athelstan knew it was bound to happen, yet it doesn’t lessen the pain he feels. His eyes burn with coming tears and he wipes them angrily.  
Ecbert comes in an hour later, walking on tiptoes. Athelstan tries to keep his composure, but the king’s attempt to go unnoticed is the last straw. Athelstan sits up so fast Ecbert takes a step back, clutching his hand on the fur covering his shoulders.

“Christ, Athelstan. You scared me.”

It is true Athelstan may look a bit scary, with his hair loose and wild around his face. He springs on his feet, striding towards Ecbert.

“If you’re cheating on me, there’s no need to be discreet about it. Considering how you looked at Kwenthrith during dinner, the whole kingdom must be aware of it by now.”

Ecbert sighs and walks past Athelstan, not even looking at him.

“I’m tired, Athestan.”

“I bet you are.”

The words leave Athelstan’s mouth before he thinks about it, yet he doesn’t regret them. He is too angry for that. Ecbert turns back slowly, frowning.

“What did you just say?”

A small part of Athelstan tells him to lay low, to apologize and go to bed, but he has had enough of that.

“You heard me, Sire.” He hisses the title, and Ecbert’s frown deepens as he takes a step towards Athelstan. “How dare you coming here, bragging about how tired you are, when you’ve just cheated on me?”

Ecbert is in front of him within two seconds, pointing a menacing forefinger under Athelstan’s nose.

“Watch your tongue, little omega. Don’t forget I am your king.”

“Yes, and my husband too!” Athelstan exclaims. “I may be a useless, low-rank omega, but that doesn’t give you the right to cheat on me as soon as a wealthy princess comes by!”

Ecbert shakes his head and grabs Athelstan’s jaw.

“I told you to watch. Your. Tongue.”

Athelstan pushes his hand away and tears his head out of Ecbert’s grip.

“No! You never spend time with me, except when you need to remind me how bad a failure I am!”

“It’s enough, Athelstan! You failed me, whether you accept it or not.”

“Yet I never betrayed you!”

Ecbert reacts so fast Athelstan doesn’t see the blow coming. He staggers backwards when the king backhands him across the face, and he doesn’t even have time to raise his arms before a second blow sends him to the floor. Athelstan stays on his knees for a few seconds without moving, more because of shock than pain. His mouth is filled with the iron taste of blood. Ecbert breathes heavily above him, motionless. Athelstan raises his head, hand still pressed at the corner of his mouth.

“You… you hit me. After what you did… you come back and you hit me.”

Athelstan never thought Ecbert would get to that point. Screaming yes, maybe throwing things across the room. But hitting him? He didn’t see it coming.  
The king falls to his knees in front of him, dropping the fur in the process. He reaches out to touch Athelstan’s cheek, however Athelstan shuffles backwards to put some distance between them.

“Stay away,” he warns.

Ecbert crawls to get nearer, his features set into something that could be remorse.

“I am sorry. Please Athelstan, I didn’t mean to…”

“Yet you did.”

“You have to believe me, I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t know what happened, I told you I am tired and… please.”

Ecbert becomes more agitated as he speaks, and Athelstan draws back until he connects with the wall. Ecbert follows him and cradles his face with shaking hands.

“Athelstan… you need to understand, I told you to stop talking yet you didn’t listen. I’m sorry, I don’t know what took other me.”

Athelstan doesn’t really register the king’s words –he is still trying to process what happened. How they could get to this. They have some trouble communicating, but nothing justifying a blow. Ecbert babbles beside him, trying to turn Athelstan’s face so that he can look him in the eye. When that doesn’t work, Ecbert bends down and attempts to kiss him, only to be pushed away once again.

“Leave me! I’m not sleeping here tonight.”

Athelstan leans against the wall to get up and opens the door, trying to ignore the way Ecbert clings to the hem of his nightgown. He can’t sleep next to the man who just hit him. Not tonight.

“Athelstan, stay! I’ll make it up to you, please!”

Athelstan’s nightgown slips out of Ecbert’s hands as he leaves the room, and he slams the door behind him. He fears the king will go after him, yet the door doesn’t reopen as he crosses the corridor.  
As he walks, Athelstan ponders on the various options he has. He can lock himself in his own room, even if Ecbert comes pounding on his door, he will be safe. Yet that’s not the problem. Athelstan just doesn’t want to be alone, so he goes to the only friend he has in this castle.

Aethelwulf’s door opens after several insistent knocks, right when Athelstan decides to walk back to his own room.

“You’d better have a good reason to–”

Aethelwulf’s grumpiness leaves him when he sees Athelstan. The candle he is holding provides enough light for him to notice the forming bruises. Aethelwulf stays frozen and Athelstan crosses his arms around his chest, the cold seeping through his clothes. The movement shakes Aethelwulf out of his musings and he hurries Athelstan inside.

“Come in, come in. What happened?”

He gently pushes away the locks falling on Athelstan’s face.

“It doesn’t hurt so much,” Athelstan mutters. “We had a fight.”

“He hit you?”

“There’s nothing you can do about it. Please don’t say anything to him.”

Aethelwulf presses his lips into a thin line, and Athelstan is ready to beg if necessary. There is really no need to talk about it anymore. Aethelwulf grunts, and this must be his way to agree.

“Come to bed, you’re going to catch a cold.”

Athelstan doesn’t need to be told twice and he crawls under the furs. Crossing the castle barefooted may not have been his best idea. Athelstan curls on the mattress, which is still warm from Aethelwulf’s body heat.

“Listen,” Aethelwulf whispers, “if you need a quiet place again, day or night, my door is open for you.”

“Thank you,” Athelstan whispers back.

***

Athelstan is late today. It’s not like him, and Ragnar wonders what makes him late as he looks out of the window. It has been snowing all night and a good layer of snow covers the ground. England is even more beautiful like this. Colder too, and Ragnar is glad they started building huts. He has had enough of the tents. Maybe he should accept Ecbert’s offer of a room in the castle.

Ragnar hears the door opening behind him, so quiet he almost misses it. He turns, already smiling, yet the smile dies on his lips as soon as he sees Athelstan. His hair is braided as usual, but it is a bit dishevelled, as if he did in haste. Perhaps he woke up late. Although the hair isn’t the problem, unlike the scab on his lower lip and the bruise on his jaw.  
Ragnar immediately crosses the distance between them and his first reaction is to bring his hand over the bruises. Athelstan starts and pushes his hand away. Fine, Ragnar may have been too straightforward, but seeing this makes his blood boil.

“Who did that to you?” he growls, even though he feels like he already knows the answer.

Athelstan gives him a tiny smile, which turns into a wince when it pulls on his hurt lip. He lowers his eyes and sits down, hands folded on his lap. Ragnar noticed he tends to do so when he is tense, or when Ecbert says something harsh. Ragnar has caught glimpses of Athelstan’s joyful side, and he knows this submissive stance isn’t him. Not so submissive, at least.

Ragnar isn’t going to drop the subject, but he doesn’t want to tower over Athelstan while they have this conversation. The young man doesn’t need to feel any more threatened. Ragnar crouches in front of him –Athelstan’s eyes widen at that– and rests one hand on the sturdy table to keep his balance.

“Tell me,” he insists, looking up at Athelstan.

“What concern is it to you?” Athelstan asks quietly.

“Wouldn’t you be concerned if I turned up one morning with bruises all over my face?”

Athelstan lets out a bitter laugh.

“It is not the same. No alpha worries about what happens to an omega.”

“Some of them do. Was it about the Princess?”

“Is it so obvious?” Athelstan replies, and here he meets Ragnar’s gaze, though he is more daring him to go on than asking a real question. That’s not enough to stop Ragnar.

“You looked worried last night, more than usual.”

“Well, politics does that to you. Enough talking about me, let’s start your lesson.”

That’s out of the question. Ragnar isn’t sure of what Athelstan needs, but it can’t be teaching him grammar and funny words. Athelstan looks away towards the window and Ragnar nudges his leg with the tip of his fingers. There might be something they can do.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Ragnar suggests.

Athelstan turns his head so fast Ragnar fears he is going to hurt his neck.

“What?”

“Yes. Let’s take our horses and go for a ride.”

Ragnar likes to clear his head this way, and Athelstan seems to enjoy horse riding. It is worth a try.

“It’s snowy outside. And I don’t think I am allowed to go,” Athelstan replies, despite the sparkles lighting his eyes.

“Your king has a council with Kwenthrith, doesn’t he? He won’t know.”

Athelstan’s dilemma is obvious, worry mixing with excitement on his soft features.

“Don’t you want to?” Ragnar asks, shifting a little on his feet.

“You don’t understand, Ragnar Lothbrok. It isn’t about what I want. It never is.”

“Well, for once it is. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Athelstan looks down again for a while, but when he stares back into Ragnar’s eyes, there is no anxiety left in them. Ragnar’s heart leaps with joy.

***

Athelstan releases a deep breath as soon as they leave the castle. No one tries to stop them –he is the king’s husband after all, even if he tends to forget it. The air is chilly, and large curls of air come out of the horses’ nostrils as they breathe. They cross the forest, the sound of each metal buckle on the saddle echoing between the trees. Athelstan tightens his gloved hands on the reins. Their quiet pace is relaxing, but he starts shivering, even with the thick layers of fabric covering his body. 

“Don’t worry,” Ragnar tells him with a smirk. “We’re going to warm up soon.”

“I swear if you’re going to make a lewd joke–”

Athelstan voice catches in his throat as they reach the edge of the forest. He stops his horse, Ragnar doing the same beside him. A vast meadow spreads out in front of them, covered with snow. It is majestic and silent, strangely intimidating. 

“Did you ever get the opportunity to gallop in the snow?” Ragnar asks.

Athelstan can’t look away from the meadow as he answers.

“No. I wasn’t allowed.”

“You’re going to love it.”

Athelstan wants to argue that the horses could slip, that it could be dangerous, but he doesn’t have time. Ragnar nudges the sides of his horse with his heels and breaks into a canter. Even if Athelstan wanted to disagree, his own horse follows Ragnar’s, and he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t want to, because it is magical. The horse widens his strides and soon Athelstan catches up with Ragnar. They share a look for a second, wide grins on their faces, then Athelstan turns his attention back to the landscape in front of him. He doesn’t know what it feels like to fly, but this must be close to it. The sound of the hooves is muffled by the snow –it is as if the horse didn’t even touch the ground. The wind hits Athelstan’s face as the horse increases his speed, and he can’t stop smiling. He is flying over a cloud. He has never felt so free.  
They cross the meadow within minutes and there they slow the horses down so that they can catch their breaths. Athelstan pats the neck of his mount, turning to Ragnar. His cheeks are on fire, and they hurt from smiling.

“It was… I had never felt anything like this,” he babbles.

Ragnar is beaming too, and even more when Athelstan shares his joy. They ride side by side again, panting a bit. They are close enough for their stirrups to knock together from time to time.

“Will we do it again?” Athelstan asks, and he doesn’t care if he sounds like an excited child.

“As long as we have snow,” Ragnar replies, winking.

“It was so amazing… going so fast and making almost no sound. It was as if time had stopped. It was… I don’t know.” Athelstan goes from rambling to grinning again, and he doesn’t care if he makes no sense.

“Do you feel warm now?” Ragnar teases.

“God, yes. Thank you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Athelstan rolls the Northman’s name on his tongue, his false attempt at being formal betrayed by his little smile. Ragnar grins, sticking out his chest a bit.


	5. Chapter 5

Ecbert hasn’t been able to concentrate for a single second on the matter at hand. He only thinks about what happened last night, and he didn’t get the opportunity to see Athelstan today. Oh, Ecbert knows where he spent the night, but he didn’t even try to find him this morning. Aethelwulf would have never let him.

Ecbert dismisses his council as soon as he can, and he wishes he could do the same with Kwenthrith. However, you don’t dismiss a princess who is a potential ally and successor to a wealthy kingdom. In particular if you spent an exhausting part of the night with her.

Now that the two of them are alone, Kwenthrith’s feral gaze returns in full force.

“You seem… sullen, today,” she says. “I’m sorry our time together had such an effect on you.”

She doesn’t look like she is sorry. Ecbert doesn’t want to have this conversation now but he feels Kwenthrith is a stubborn woman. Besides, the last thing he wants is to offend her.

“Our time together was exquisite,” he declares, hoping it will be enough.

Ecbert gets up, intending to put an end to this meaningless conversation. He has more important things to do. Finding Athelstan, for example. Kwenthrith gets up as well, blocking his exit. She puts her delicate hands on his shoulders, flattening some wrinkles of the fabric. Ecbert has no doubt that these same hands can turn lethal when needed. Late Kenelm would probably agree with that if he could.

“It wasn’t my intention to cause trouble with your omega,” she whispers, even though no one can hear them. Her lips brush against his short beard, bringing back fresh –and pleasant– memories. “He could join us next time, if this could ease his discomfort. I wouldn’t mind his presence at all.”

Ecbert had never thought about this possibility. He wouldn’t mind it either, but convincing Athelstan is another story. Plus, offering him to sleep with Kwenthrith might not be the best way to earn his forgiveness. Ecbert shakes his head, taking Kwenthrith’s hands off his shoulders and giving them a little squeeze in the process.

“I am afraid, Princess, we will have to remain on our own. Athelstan doesn’t have your… playful nature.”

“Hmm… it’s a shame.”

Kwenthrith smirks and spins on her heels, the movement making her hair fly around her shoulders. She leaves with no other word, and Ecbert remains motionless in the middle of the room for a few seconds, thoughts tumbling in his head. Kwenthrith will be a wonderful ally.

Yet before he can think about their potential future, Ecbert has to deal with what is already his. He has to fix his mistakes and find Athelstan. The young man should be with Ragnar Lothbrok right now, so Ecbert goes to the room they were given. He could wait until the end of the lesson, but he doesn’t want to.  
Ecbert frowns when he gets in the corridor leading to the studying room. The soldier supposed to stay by the door isn’t there. Which means…

Ecbert pushes the door open, only to find silence and empty chairs. Suspicion invades him, followed by worry. Did they end their lesson earlier than usual? It’s rarely the case, Athelstan is quite dedicated to this task. Maybe a little too much. Ecbert tries the more or less secret room next. Perhaps Athelstan decided to return to his scrolls, sometimes he can’t stay away from them when he is working on an intricate illumination.  
The room is empty too, and Ecbert’s doubts increase. Where can he be? More important, where is the Northman?  
Ecbert goes downstairs, to a more crowded area of the castle. Someone must have seen them. An omega accompanied by a Northman can’t go unnoticed. 

“Did you see my husband, by any chance?” he asks the guard standing at the main entrance.

The man looks a bit shaken by the king’s curt tone, and he nods.

“He went through the gate this morning, with Ragnar Lothbrok. For a horse-ride I believe.”

Ecbert can’t decide what is the most unbelievable: the fact that Athelstan left the castle with Ragnar Lothbrok, or that no one stopped him.

“How can you explain that you let them go?” Ecbert says, fighting to keep a steady voice.

The soldier fidgets, and his fingers clutch around his spear.

“Uh… He is your husband, Sire. We cannot stop him. You didn’t give any order regarding his–”

“Do you believe I have to give orders to stop my husband from going away with a Northman? Hmm? Tell me.”

“They are your allies now, Sire, therefore…”

“There is no ‘therefore’! Saddle my horse and tell a few men to get ready as well!” Ecbert exclaims, already striding away.

“But they came back, Sire.”

The king stops dead in his tracks and turns around slowly. This is getting better and better. The soldier looks like he wants to disappear in the ground. Well, he will have the opportunity to study it closely soon enough. Wiping the kitchen floors will suit him better than guarding the doors.

“Couldn’t you say it from the start? Where are they now?”

“I-in the stables, Sire. I think they are in the stables.”

“I hope so for you.”

 

Ecbert can’t deny he is relieved to spot Athelstan in the stables, even if he is with Ragnar. The soldier is still going to wipe the floors.  
The king observes them for a few seconds –at least there is a safe distance between them– before clearing his throat. Athelstan stops in the middle of a sentence, his smile faltering when he sees Ecbert. That hurts. He may, no he does deserve it, yet it hurts. Ragnar stands a bit taller beside Athelstan, with a glint in his eyes which could be a warning. Ecbert represses a scoff. He would love hearing a Northman’s warning.

Athelstan whispers something in Norse to Ragnar, followed by an insistent look. The Northman leaves after a hesitation, brushing Ecbert’s shoulder as he goes past him. The king waits until he has left the stables to approach Athelstan, who himself resumes brushing his horse.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere.” Ecbert pauses, hoping Athelstan will say something, but no answer comes. “Leaving our walls like you did isn’t safe.”

“Are you going to hit me for it?”

“Athelstan…”

Ecbert didn’t come here to fight. All of a second, he doesn’t remember what he came for. His doubts and anger are fading, and he doesn’t want to fight now.

“I was worried. I wanted to apologize.”

Athelstan stops brushing the horse and faces the king, the new angle giving him a perfect view of the bruises he inflicted him. He didn’t want to go so far.

“I am sorry, Athelstan. Anger blinded me and I lost control. I shouldn’t have, I know. Please forgive me.”

Athelstan steps away from the horse to toss the brush in a canvas bag, and his eyes are shiny when he looks back at Ecbert. If only he hadn’t lost control.

“Never do it again,” Athelstan replies. “I’m serious.”

“I am too, Athelstan, I swear. I will not hurt you again like I did.”

Ecbert hadn’t expected to feel so relieved. A part of him knew Athelstan would forgive him, but he didn’t think it would be so quick. With measured movements, he takes Athelstan’s face between his hands and kisses his forehead. Before he can draw back, Athelstan grabs his wrists, maintaining his hands on his cheeks. He has small hands, yet his grip on Ecbert is almost painful.

“You scared me last night. You have no idea how much you scared me.”

Athelstan’s voice shakes, and at this second he looks like the young boy who came at Ecbert’s court three years ago, alone and terrified. Ecbert hates being a source of fear again, he hates giving Athelstan reasons to be scared of him.  
Ecbert pushes him until he hits a haystack and falls back on it, the king tumbling above him. They are pressed against each other, tangled in their robes and Athelstan already has some hay caught in his hair.

“Do you remember the first time we did it here?” Ecbert whispers.

“Yes. It was awfully prickly.”

They both chuckle at the remark, yet Ecbert knows it is only masking their discomfort for a few seconds. He can’t erase what he did with a nice memory.

“Will you keep sleeping with Kwenthrith?” Athelstan asks all of a sudden, and Ecbert has to admit he is a bit unsettled.

“I…”

He wants to promise Athelstan he won’t. He wants to promise that even if he does, it is only for political reasons. He can’t, it would be a lie. Athelstan doesn’t deserve lies. Anyway, his hesitation speaks for him. Athelstan moves to sit up and Ecbert rolls off him, sitting as well.

“Fine,” Athelstan declares. “But then I can keep going outside for a ride, even if I go with Ragnar Lothbrok.”

On any other day, Ecbert would have refused. He is sure Athelstan knows it by the defiant way he stares at him. Yet he hasn’t smelled Ragnar’s scent on Athelstan, and nothing prevents him from taking appropriate measures if the situation becomes displeasing.

“I suppose I can’t deny you this pleasure,” Ecbert concedes. “Be careful out there.”

“I will be fine. You’re the one sleeping with a fratricide.”

Athelstan leaves upon these words, and Ecbert finds himself sitting alone in the dark of the stables. Perhaps earning Athelstan’s forgiveness will take longer than expected. Now that he really thinks about it, Athelstan never said Ecbert is forgiven. The king sighs, burying his face into his hands.

***

Kwenthrith has a hard time finding Athelstan, even with the many indications provided by various servants. When she stops in front his supposed bedroom door, she gives a firm knock on the wooden surface, firmer than how she feels inside. The door creaks open after a few seconds, and Kwenthrith’s confident smile falters when she discovers Athelstan’s bruised face. The omega looks surprised, then puts on a carefully neutral expression.

“May I help you, Princess?”

Kwenthrith tries not to stare at his split lip. She gets the unpleasant feeling that it might be related to her night with the king. She will have to find out.

“Can I come in?”

Athelstan parts his lips, unsettled by the question, which Kwenthrith can understand. She would be surprised too if the woman sleeping with her husband –thank God she doesn’t have one yet– came to visit her. Well, she would go from surprise to anger in no time, so let’s hope Athelstan has a more measured nature. He does, considering that he opens up his door to let her in.

“Please, sit.”

Athelstan motions to a comfortable armchair, beside a little table on which lay various books. That’s exactly how she had pictured his quarters. Athelstan sits in front of her, looking at her in a polite yet wary way. The silence stretches, and Kwenthrith realises he is waiting for her to talk. She doesn’t know where to begin, so she says the first thing crossing her mind.

“I hope this doesn’t hurt too much,” she declares, touching her own lip. “If it has anything to do with me, I–”

“It has to do with you,” Athelstan interrupts, and Kwenthrith didn’t expect the curt tone. However his features soften when he adds, “yet you can’t be held responsible for it. I suppose it was bound to happen one day or another. We already had a lot to deal with before your arrival.”

“Still, I feel–”

This time Kwenthrith interrupts herself as Athelstan raises his hand.

“With all due respect, Princess, I can’t believe you came here to apologize for sleeping with my husband.”

“I am not trying to take him from you,” Kwenthrith replies nonetheless.

“I know. It is the only reason I don’t hate you for it.”

Which doesn’t mean he likes her, but Kwenthrith can’t blame him. Yet the real reason of her presence makes her feel uncomfortable now.

“I have a favour to ask you.”

“Let me guess: more time with King Ecbert?” Athelstan asks, quirking an eyebrow. His face is unreadable even though the hint of a smile curls the corner of his mouth, and Kwenthrith can’t decide if he is joking or not.

“No. I may ally with some of the Northmen, therefore I need to speak their language.”

Athelstan studies her face for a while, and Kwenthrith guesses he is thinking of what he will ask in exchange for his knowledge. The princess would agree to many things, including not having sex with Ecbert. Finding another man shouldn’t be too difficult.

“I will help you, Princess.”

Just like that?

“Don’t you want something in return?”

Athelstan frowns, as if she were the one having a strange behaviour.

“Uh… no? Why would I?”

“Everyone wants to trade when you ask for a favour. But I guess you are not everyone.”

Athelstan shrugs, fiddling with the pages of one book.

“Did one of the warriors catch your interest?” he asks.

Kwenthrith smirks, because this is getting interesting. Athelstan doesn’t strike her as one fishing out such information. If he does it, he must have a good reason, and she suspects his reason may be related to Ecbert’s anger this morning. Much to her dismay, Kwenthrith didn’t witness it, however she did hear two soldiers muttering about his damn omega leaving the castle with a heathen. 

“Maybe,” she teases. “What about you?”

“I have no interest in them,” Athelstan replies a bit too fast, “apart from what concerns our alliance.”

“Of course. Well, Ragnar Lothbrok isn’t a bad one, but I find myself more interested by… how did you call her, a shieldmaiden?”

The look of relief on Athelstan’s face is beyond comical, even if he struggles to hide it. Kwenthrith wouldn’t say no to Ragnar Lothbrok –she would love seducing him to be honest– but given this new information, it would shake Athelstan more than her affair with Ecbert. Athelstan is a cute thing, and Kwenthrith doesn’t want to hurt a cute thing more than she already did. Ragnar Lothbrok is officially out of her objectives. The shieldmaiden, however, it is another story.

“Oh, you mean Lagertha?” Athelstan says once he has regained some composure. “I think she would be a valuable ally. I understand why you would need to be able to speak with her.”

“It would be better, even though some things are quite universal and wouldn’t require many words.”

It is so sweet to see the blush spreading on Athelstan, especially considering that he turns into a sex-craving being himself once a month. One would think he is immune to sexual innuendos, but no. Kwenthrith can’t resist one last teasing.

“I believe Ragnar Lothbrok is moving in the castle soon. I went past some servants talking about preparing his quarters.”

Athelstan can’t blush more than he already does, but the fidgeting on his seat is adorable. And dangerous, in a way, if he can’t hide such emotions. He is safe with Kwenthrith, but she suspects –and fears, to her own astonishment– he wouldn’t be able to lie to the king. If Ecbert reacted with so much violence to what was probably a quarrel, Kwenthrith doesn’t want to find out what he would do if Athelstan grows too close to Ragnar Lothbrok.

***

Athelstan doesn’t know how he should feel about Ragnar’s settling in the castle, so close to him. At least he knows he shouldn’t be excited about it, yet he can’t help it. Athelstan starts feeling comfortable around the Northman, even if it is too soon to talk about trust. But he is safe with Ragnar, he is sure of this, and it is a first step towards trust. If only Athelstan could say so regarding Ecbert. He fights the instinct to flinch whenever the king moves his hands, but that is not the worse. The worse is the feeling of betrayal rising each time he thinks about Ecbert.

Now that Kwenthrith has left, Athelstan can’t go back to reading. His mind just won’t agree with it. He wants to take his horse and go back into the woods. He wants to see Ragnar Lothbrok. Before he starts thinking about what the king would say, before reason takes over, Athelstan swings to his feet and storms into the corridor. Guests are always housed in the same wing of the castle, therefore Athelstan knows where to find the Northman. Finding his room isn’t complicated either: several items lay in the corridor, next to a door.

Ragnar comes out of the room the moment Athelstan reaches it. That’s when Athelstan realises he doesn’t know what to say. He came here because he wanted to see Ragnar. Be with him. Athelstan has no explanation other than this, and he cannot really voice it. Ragnar’s whole face lights up when he sees him, which is in itself quite flattering. No one reacts like this to Athelstan –they have no reason to– except Aethelwulf, but with Aethelwulf it is a different relationship.

“Are you checking if I don’t mess up with your furniture?” Ragnar jokes.

“Yes. It is a secret mission, though. No one knows about it,” Athelstan replies, relieved by the easy banter.

“Even better then.”

Ragnar winks, picking up a heavy chest and going back into the room. Athelstan grabs the few remaining items and follows him, closing the door behind him. Ragnar doesn’t own many belongings, yet he managed to scatter them throughout the whole room. Athelstan smiles, wrapping his arms around himself. His room was much warmer. Ragnar tracks the movement and gestures towards the chimney.

“You should go to the fire. Your servants lit it a while ago, but it is still not strong enough to warm the room.”

“Yes, we don’t often heat the guestrooms when they are empty,” Athelstan replies as he approaches the chimney.

There is a thick fur laid on the floor in front of it, between two embroidered armchairs. Athelstan is pretty sure the fur wasn’t there before. Usually he would sit on an armchair –the king’s husband must maintain some manners, but the fur looks warm and inviting, so Athelstan lowers himself to the floor and sits cross-legged on it. Ragnar ruffles through his things a bit more, worsening the mess, and joins him by the fire.

“Tell me, Ragnar Lothbrok, the cold made you change your mind?”

“That is what Lagertha believes. And King Horik… well, King Horik thinks I should stay with my men.”

“Don’t they resent you for living here while they remain outside of our castle?”

“No. They understand my presence here is important.”

Ragnar could be referring to many things, such as his alliance, yet Athelstan wants to believe the Northman is also referring to him. Because to Athelstan, it is important that Ragnar stays here.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Athelstan declares.

He puts his hands closer to the fire, rubbing them together.

“I can help you with that,” Ragnar offers.

Athelstan hesitates, and decides that he should stop hesitating. He extends his arms, fully aware that it could go downhill from here. Ragnar cradles Athelstan’s hands between his, rubbing them with care.

“They are very cold,” The Northman states.

“I always have trouble warming them.”

Athelstan doesn’t say that Ragnar’s presence warms his whole being right now, even though the little hair at the back of his neck stands up for a different reason. So close to the fire, Ragnar’s eyes look like fire and ice mingled together. It is mesmerizing. A part of Athelstan registers that the rubbing of his hands turned into a gentle stroking, Ragnar’s fingers inching down his wrists. The atmosphere turns heavy between them, but Athelstan doesn’t feel less comfortable. He shift on his knees, the task proving difficult as Ragnar doesn’t let go of his hands. The movement makes Ragnar’s hands slide under Athelstan’s sleeves and up his forearms, and Athelstan shivers at the slight friction it brings. They stare at each other for a long time, Ragnar’s grip unmovable on Athelstan’s arms.  
They are so close. All Athelstan has to do is bending a little forward. He does so, gaze flickering between Ragnar’s eyes and his lips. Athelstan’s heart beats loudly in his chest and he doesn’t remember the last time it happened.

“Wait,” Ragnar whispers.

Now Athelstan’s heart just stops beating. He draws back, sitting on his heels.

“I thought… I assumed you wanted it too.”

“Oh, I do. I’m positive I do, only I am not sure you truly want this.”

“Do you feel like you forced me?” Athelstan asks, a little annoyed.

“No. What I mean is that you may want it now, but maybe you will regret it later. If this is a revenge on your husband, for example.”

“No! It’s not. I… I don’t think so.”

Athelstan hasn’t given this issue much thought. He wasn’t even thinking about Ecbert.

“The pleasure of such a revenge would be short-lived, Ragnar Lothbrok. King Ecbert is the only man I have ever known. Believe me when I say I don’t want to kiss you out of revenge.”

Something shifts in Ragnar’s eyes, and his grip tightens on Athelstan. Without any warning, he yanks him against his chest, and Athelstan tumbles on his lap, their noses almost bumping together. Ragnar trails his nose along Athlestan’s throat, scenting him. He grazes his teeth against the sensitive skin, careful not to leave any mark and eager to do so at the same time.

“It is dangerous,” Ragnar whispers in his ear. “Very dangerous…”

Athelstan closes his eyes and gasps, fingers clutching on Ragnar’s tunic. In a different situation, he would already have jumped on Ragnar. But for someone in their position, even a little kiss puts them in danger. Ragnar scenting him puts them in danger. When Ragnar’s nuzzling at his face and hair isn’t enough anymore, Athelstan twists in his lap to bring their lips closer.  
He doesn’t know how Ragnar manages it, but his hands slide to Athelsthan’s upper arm, the sleeve growing tight around them. Maybe they will stay stuck like this. Athelstan giggles at the thought, prompting a questioning look from Ragnar.

“I want to feel every inch of you,” the Northman declares.

“Any other alpha would have stuck their hands lower,” Athelstan replies. “Or in a more convenient position.”

He laughs when Ragnar come up a little more to grab his shoulders, tickling him along the way. They are both fortunate Athelstan wears large-fitting clothes.

“We’re silly,” Athelstan chuckles. “What if someone comes in?”

Ragnar hums in response and presses him against his chest, his new hold making their position a bit weird.

“This way they will never be able to untangle us,” he replies, voice low.

Athelstan doesn’t want to think about what would really happen, not now. Instead, he leans forward, and he is sure Ragnar can feel the warmth of his breath on his skin. Athelstan ghosts his lips over Ragnar’s, the touch lasting less than a second. Ragnar’s fingers tighten on his flesh, but he doesn’t attempt to rush him. Athelstan looks up at him while he tilts his head to nip into the blond beard.

“I wasn’t aware omegas indulge in biting,” Ragnar hisses.

Athelstan trails his mouth back at the corner of Ragnar’s mouth, smiling against his skin.

“They indulge in many things when you allow them to.”

He gives a light bite to Ragnar’s lower lip, and he knows he won’t be able to keep teasing for long. Ahelstan’s eyes flicker upwards, and when they meet Ragnar’s dilated pupils, his resolve breaks. Athelstan seals their mouths together and it sends a trail of sparkles along his spine. Ragnar’s chapped lips are rough against his, and soon the tip of his tongue presses against Athelstan’s mouth. He allows him in, and meets gentleness where he expected a show of dominance.  
In a movement that Athelstan can’t control, his whole body undulates against Ragnar’s chest, and he is the one bringing teeth into their kissing. Ragnar draws back, gasping and frowning, only to crash their mouths together again a split second later. His hands jerk up in Athelstan’s robe, as if he wanted to cradle his face. However, the fabric restrains him and the force of the movement makes him lose his balance. Ragnar falls on his back and Athelstan tumbles above him, gripping the Northman’s jaw with both hands to maintain their kiss as they fall.  
Athelstan has no idea how long they stay like that, Ragnar sprawled on his back and Athelstan lying lazily between his spread legs. They go back to gentleness, Athelstan squirming absent-mindedly against Ragnar. It is only when he feels a hardness pressing against his hipbone that he draws back.

“Oh… I didn’t intend to…”

“Now I’m dying to see how it would be if you intended to,” Ragnar answers, a hungry smile spreading his lips.

“Maybe next time,” Athelstan says without thinking about it, still caught in a haze.

“Did I hear ‘next time’?” Ragnar exclaims, excitement and disbelief mingling on his face.

Damn it. Athelstan realises what just slipped from him, and damn it. He should feel guilty right now –he does, a bit– and rush back to his quarters. But no, what does he say? ‘Maybe next time’. Damn him.

“I think we should find a way to free you from my robe,” Athelstan suggests, his cheeks burning with a heat not only provided by the fire.

Doing so requires a little time and a lot of contact between their skins. They sit by the fire again, as if nothing had happened, but Ragnar keeps glancing at Athelstan with a lopsided grin.

It is dangerous. It is playing with fire. A million things could wrong now that they have taken this step. Yet Athelstan returns the smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks after weeks, kissing Athlestan almost becomes a habit, and Ragnar is not going to complain. It is a scarce habit –they can’t risk being caught. Maybe that is why it always seems as delicious as their first. They don’t do anything else, they are just like two children hiding from the grown-ups. To his surprise, Ragnar is satisfied with it, even if it can be tough to contain his instinct to take and to leave his mark on Athelstan’s flesh. Each time they spend a moment together, it becomes harder to part and to stay away from Athelstan. At least, Ragnar’s improvement in English is noticeable.

Ragnar is mulling over a particularly complex sentence as he makes his way to the camp. He never thought a language issue would preoccupy him. That must be Athelstan’s influence here.

The first person he notices is Floki, and it is not a welcoming face, for now. The shipbuilder is busy chopping wood in front of his hut, which looks better than the last time Ragnar came here. Maybe two days ago. Three, at most. Floki drops his axe on the ground and wipes his brow as Ragnar dismounts his horse.

“Soon you will have a real hall,” Ragnar jokes, nodding at the hut.

“All thanks to the Saxons. They came to help us, Ecbert probably doesn’t want us freezing to death. Not all of us have a warm room in a castle.”

“Their castle isn’t so warm. But I can welcome you in my room.”

Floki snorts, and lets out the familiar snicker Ragnar was seeking.

“No, thanks. I would rather share my bed with King Horik.”

Ragnar casts a quick glance around, and allows himself to smile once he is certain no one can hear them.

“How is our King? Happy, I hope.”

“As happy as he can be. Let’s talk about this inside.”

Indeed, the privacy of Floki’s hut is more appropriate. Ragnar has been wary of Horik since they left for their second raid, and the king’s animosity towards him is bolstering his doubts.

“King Horik believes you should stay with your men,” Floki declares as he closes the door. “He also says you tend to forget who your true allies are.”

Floki pauses, pursing his lips, and Ragnar senses that he hasn’t mentioned everything.

“Is that all he says? You’re not one to shy away from saying the truth.”

“Of course not,” Floki replies with a wide smirk, “I’m merely saving the best for the end. He whispered to me –in an inebriated moment– that you’re abandoning us for an omega’s ass. His words were cruder, by the way, but you get the whole idea.”

Ragnar can’t say he isn’t offended and judging from Floki’s laugh, it shows on his face. However, the offence isn’t an issue, for now. What Ragnar needs to know is if Horik is speculating or if he has an actual proof, which would really be an issue.

“Why would he say so?”

“No idea. Jealousy?” Floki ventures, waving a nonchalant hand. “Perhaps he wants a piece of that ass too.”

Ragnar knows that it doesn’t mean anything to Floki, but he can’t help baring his teeth at the thought. Horik is never going to approach Athelstan, or it will have to be over Ragnar’s dead body.

“You should control this kind of reaction,” Floki advises. “The omega isn’t yours, despite the fact that you have his smell on you.”

“Wh– I don’t have his smell on me.” Does he?

“Yes, you do. I hope you didn’t meet Ecbert on the way.”

Ragnar brings his sleeve to his nose, and there is a faint scent, not unusual when you spend several hours per day with an omega, in the same room.

“I had a lesson with him just before I came here. And it’s only on my clothes.”

“Please, Ragnar. I can smell him on your skin too.”

He will have to wash then, even though he is reluctant to get rid of a reminder of Athelstan. Floki grunts when Ragnar smells his sleeve again.

“You’re lucky I’m your friend,” Floki mutters. “Otherwise Lagertha would have heard about this already.”

“We’re not married anymore.”

“Yes, but she would never let you live it down.”

“I fear you won’t either.”

“Well. Not everyone gets to witness the great Ragnar Lothbrok, descendant of Odin, batting his eyelashes at an omega’s lingering scent.”

Ragnar glares at him with a look he hopes is threatening enough, however Floki is not one to be so easily impressed.

“Just concentrate on winning Horik’s trust, will you?”

***

After Ragnar leaves, Athelstan stays in their studying room for a while, caressing that place behind his ear that Ragnar loves licking. Athelstan shivers at the thought, and he keeps rubbing this spot as he walks back to his room. He has to wash his face and hands before he joins the king. Otherwise, he will have to explain why his lips taste of Ragnar, and that’s not a conversation he is willing to have.

Looking absently at the floor, Athelstan is shaken out of his musings as he bumps into someone.

“Woops, sorry.”

Aethelwulf. Athelstan holds back his sigh of relief.

“No, don’t apologize. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Yeah, about that,” Aethelwulf says while putting his arms around Athelstan’s shoulders, “why were you smiling like that?”

He takes his conspiracy voice and leans to whisper his question in Athelstan’s ear, and they both freeze at the same time. Athelstan steps away, his back hitting against the wall. Aethelwulf blinks as he struggles to find his words.

“Let me explain,” Athlestan begs.

“I… not here.”

Aethelwulf urges him in the first empty room they find.

“How can you explain the Northman’s smell is on you?”

Athelstan isn’t out of trouble yet, but Aethelwulf sounds curious rather than reproachful, so it is a good start. Still, Athelstan favours honesty. He hasn’t thought of a convincing lie anyway.

“We kissed.”

“What? Like… he didn’t force you, did he?”

“No. I… I was rather willing. Are you going to tell your father?”

It takes a little time for Aethelwulf to answer, as he is still pondering on this new information. He does seem a little offended when he replies.

“Telling him? No, of course not. What happens in any bed other than mine isn’t my business. I have no right to tell anything to my father, and I would never do that to you.”

Aethelwulf bits his lip and his voice is strained when he speaks again.

“But you must understand that you’re putting yourself in danger, Athelstan. I won’t say a word to my father, and if he finds out about it one day, I will do everything I can to reason him and to protect you.” Aethelwulf grabs Athelstan’s shoulders, his voice breaking a little when he goes on. “Yet I won’t go against him. I can’t. As his son, I can’t go against him. I have to show him my support.”

“I understand, and I would never ask you to do so. I’m the only one responsible for what I do.”

“Not the only one. I’ll take care of Ragnar Lothbrok myself if he doesn’t treat you well.”

Worst part is that Aethelwulf would do it. Athelstan has never heard him make empty threats. This would be a hard blow to their alliance with the Northmen.

“I think we should be okay,” Athelstan says nonetheless.

“I hope so. I don’t want you to be hurt again.” Aethelwulf steps back and sags against the wall.

Without saying more, Athelstan knows he is referring to that argument he had with the king. Thankfully it never repeated itself, but Athelstan still walks on eggshells when Ecbert starts losing his temper. You can never be too careful.

“Ragnar wouldn’t do that,” Athelstan declares. He doesn’t have a single doubt about it. Yes, the Northman can be violent, like every man here, but on a battlefield. With his enemies, not with Athelstan, of that he is sure.

“I used to believe this regarding my father,” Aethelwulf replies with a tired shrug. “Yet he did. He has his flaws, but I always thought this one wasn’t amongst them. Anyway, I am done bothering you,” he adds with a grin. “Oh, don’t be late for dinner tonight. You know my father is fussy regarding special events.”

A special event? Did Athelstan forget about a new guest?

“Wait, what special event?”

“Uh, Kwenthrith’s departure? She is going back to Mercia.”

How could he forget? She told him herself two days ago, during their last lesson.

“Your Northman must be a damn good kisser if he made you forget that.”

“He isn’t my Northman.”

“But he kisses well?”

“Oh, stop it.”

***

Athelstan arrives in a hurry –he got lost in his scrolls and his musings– yet he is on time. He notices Aethelwulf’s smirk, half hidden behind his cup. If they were children and not in public, Athelstan would stick out his tongue in retaliation. But yeah, guests. Although he can’t picture Kwenthrith being shocked by this.

As usual when they are having a large feast, some Northmen join them. Athelstan gets along pretty well with Lagertha and Torstein. As far as he knows, Torstein is a beta, and it is easier for Athelstan to talk with him without raising Ecbert’s suspicion. The fact that Torstein always has a good joke to share –at least those which Athelstan understands– helps a lot. Moreover, listening to Torstein while he explains a failed joke can be the funniest part.

“You realize your explanations worsen the joke?” Floki had snickered once.

After all these months spent with the Northmen, Athelstan still can’t figure out Floki. He has a feeling it would take him a lifetime to figure out Floki. It is true that the Northman scares him at times, with his piercing eyes and his intimidating make-up. Also, the shipbuilder seems at odds with Ragnar, often siding with Horik when they have minor arguments. Horik who looks like he wants to bounce over the table and strangle Athelstan on the spot, for whatever reason.

The servants come to serve some wine and Athelstan brings his cup closer when one of them bends over his shoulder. Ecbert catches his wrist midway, forcing him to put the cup down. He tightens his hold until it hurts and Athelstan opens his fingers, biting back a whimper. He feels ashamed –as always when Ecbert acts this way– but for the first time, it mixes with annoyance. He hears Aethelwulf clearing his throat next to his father, managing to sound disapproving with this single noise.

“What is it?” Athelstan asks Ecbert, trying to keep his voice low. He won’t improve his situation by protesting loudly.

“My physician told me wine might be bad for you.”

“I only drink a few drops.”

“Obeying me is the only thing you’re good at these days, so let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

It hits Athelstan harder than a slap would. Ecbert doesn’t even sound harsh, he just says it as if he were talking about the weather, and Athelstan struggles to repress his tears. He nods, unable to utter a word, and Ecbert turns back to a lively conversation involving Kwenthrith and the Bishop.  
Athelstan stares at his own plate for a while and when he looks up, it is to find Ragnar staring at Ecbert, a vein beating on his neck. The king is too caught in his conversation to see him.

Athelstan stretches one leg, hoping he will reach Ragnar. The table isn’t too wide, but Athelstan’s legs aren’t too long either. After searching for a few seconds, he feels Ragnar’s boot under the tip of his foot, and he nudges him with care. Ragnar looks at Athelstan, obviously unsure if the contact comes from him.  
Athelstan gives him a tiny lopsided smile and nudges him again. If he can distract him, Ragnar will forget his anger. Moreover, Athelstan really needs the comforting contact.

“Athelstan,” Lagertha says, “Ragnar told me about your one God. I am curious about him. How can you have only one god?”

Athelstan is glad for the distraction she offers them, and they engage in what is going to be a long debate regarding their respective gods. Athelstan is about to draw back his leg when he feels Ragnar extending his, pressing against his ankle. Athelstan doesn’t stop talking with Lagertha –he could talk about their gods all night long– but he presses back against Ragnar’s leg, and he feels a little better.  
Floki takes a great interest in their chat, and he seems less scary when he explains how their fallen warriors fight in Valhalla for all eternity. Athelstan is a bit in awe.

Athelstan is explaining the Northmen why they have a crucifix as a symbol when Ecbert tints his spoon against his cup, interrupting the steady buzz of various conversations.

“A toast,” the king declares. “To our guest, Princess Kwenthrith, who is leaving us soon. Too soon, if you ask for my opinion.”

Kwenthrith chuckles and raises her cup to Ecbert.

“To you, King Ecbert, for inviting me, and to your safe trip to Mercia when you join me there.”

A clattering sound echoes in the hall when Athelstan drops his cup on the floor, and all heads turn towards him. He doesn’t care, all he wants is to shout at Ecbert. Athelstan can’t grasp why he is so angry, or why he feels so betrayed. After all, he doesn’t think much about the king when he is with Ragnar.

“I’m only borrowing him for a few weeks, Athelstan,” Kwenthrith says, and her attempt to comfort him seems sincere. 

“We’ll talk about it in private, later,” Ecbert decides.

 

Later doesn’t come soon enough. For once, Athelstan and Ecbert go back together to their bedroom. Athelstan lets his anger explode the moment Ecbert closes the door.

“When were you going to tell me? The day before you saddle your horse?”

“Calm down, Athelstan. First, I am not leaving until several weeks. We have to wait for the roads to improve. Kwenthrith has to go back now, she is needed in Mercia, otherwise–”

“Otherwise she would have stayed with you, she is so much less boring than I am!”

“It is political, Athelstan! I am not leaving you, I am only going to help her for a few weeks. King Aella will be there too.”

“It is always political with you! Is it political when you treat me like a dog in front of your guests? Can’t you put yourself in my place?”

Ecbert grabs the first thing he finds at arm reach –one of Athelstan’s books– and throws it across the room.

“No, I can’t put myself in your place, Athelstan, for we are definitely not at the same place!” he shouts. “Don’t ever forget I am your king and alpha!”

“Don’t forget to add ‘faithful husband’ on the list, your Highness!”

Ecbert raises his arm, perhaps to grab something or in mere frustration. Or to hit him. Athelstan doesn’t think, all he sees is potential danger and he recoils violently, throwing his hands in front of his face. Yet no blow comes. No shouting. When Athelstan lowers his arms, Ecbert is still standing in the same position, a hurt look on his face.

“You really thought I would do that?” the king whispers, and it is as much a statement as a question.

“It’s not like it never happened before,” Athelstan replies quietly.

“I swore I would never do it again.”

“I know.”

Athelstan wants to believe it, more than anything, but he doesn’t know what to believe anymore. The only thing he is sure of is that the painful grips and the harsh words are still there, and to him it has more meaning than a promise.

Ecbert takes slow steps until he is close to Athelstan and wraps his arms around him. Athelstan lets his brow rest on the king strong shoulder, pretending for a moment everything is going to be fine.

“Perhaps this trip will do us some good,” Ecbert muses aloud. “We might need some time far from each other.”

“It’s just so sudden.”

“I only took the decisions a few days ago. And you won’t be alone, Aethelwulf will stay in charge of the castle. It is also a good opportunity for him to discover what his responsibilities will be once he becomes king.”

Yes, if they look at their situation from a cold, logic perspective, everything makes sense and nothing hurts. Athelstan tears away from the king’s embrace and flops on the bed. He blows the candles lighting his side of the bed and turns away from Ecbert. There is no point in talking, all their conversations end up with sterile conclusions these days.

***

Ragnar goes back to his room as soon as the dinner is over, even though he would rather tear Ecbert into pieces. The advantage –and sometimes downside– of having a better understanding of the Saxons’ language means that Ragnar knows what Ecbert tells Athelstan. At least parts of it, and that is already enough to infuriate him. He wouldn’t draw his sword against Ecbert in the hall, not now, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. Ragnar has to think about his people first, about gaining land, this is his duty as an Earl. Yet it keeps him from stepping up for Athelstan, and Ragnar rarely hated his duty so much.

Ragnar doesn’t want to stay in this room. He wants to saddle his horse and take Athelstan with him through the woods, to see his wide, irrepressible smile after a gallop. Ragnar wants to kiss his lips again, followed by every part of his body, and to prove Athelstan he is loved. He doesn’t want to stay in this comfortable room doing nothing.

Ragnar grabs his sword, laying on a chair, and takes it out of its sheath. He admires the blade for a few seconds, hypnotised by the shadows that the fire casts on it. It would be foolish to believe this blade could solve his problems. It would be way too easy.

Ragnar sighs and settles down to polish the blade, since he can’t use it. This way he doesn’t feel completely idle. That is, until someone destroys his peace and knocks on the door. Ragnar gets the sudden hope that maybe Athelstan is joining him, but his rational side reminds him that the king wouldn’t let him wander in the castle so late.

The Northman groans and goes to the door, and he discovers that –for a reason he can’t grasp yet– the king’s son is standing behind it. Aethelwulf eyes him up and down, arching his eyebrows at one point. Ragnar looks down and realises he is still holding his sword.

“What a welcoming sight,” Aethelwulf grumbles.

Always a ray of sunshine. Ragnar really can’t understand why Athelstan seems so fond of this one. He hasn’t seen them a lot together but Aethelwulf seems to be Athelstan’s opposite.

“Do you need something?” Ragnar asks, and he hates speaking this language with someone who is not Athelstan.

“Yes, we need to speak.”

Ragnar stands aside a little, but Aethelwulf shakes his head.

“I won’t be long.” He looks around the corridor as if to spot a potential spy and leans closer to Ragnar, lowering his voice. “I know about you and Athelstan.”

Shit. Ragnar knew he had a reason to be wary of the Saxon. He recoils a bit, trying not to tighten his fingers too conspicuously on his sword. They have a real problem here. Lagertha is going to have his head.

Aethelwulf lets him ponder on his words for a few seconds and adds, “I don’t care.”

At first, Ragnar thinks he misinterpreted his words, and when Aethlewulf goes on, he just can’t believe his ears.

“I don’t care that Athelstan is finding some happiness with you, he deserves it. But. If you make him suffer, then I start caring, and a lot.”

Perhaps Ragnar can understand why Athelstan likes him. Aethelwulf reveals a little dagger hidden under his cloak and waves it under Ragnar’s nose.

“I don’t know what vocabulary Athelstan taught you, so I’m going to use basic words. Hurt him, and I will have your balls.”

This is easy enough to understand, moreover Aethelwulf points the dagger down towards Ragnar’s crotch, so there is no doubt possible. Well, that’s commitment and loyalty. Despite the threat hanging over his balls, Ragnar likes that. It means Athelstan isn’t alone. Even if he had seen Aethelwulf taking care of him, Ragnar didn’t believe the protectiveness ran so deep.

Ragnar nods and Aethelwulf answers him with a satisfied smile.

“Perfect. Oh, and please remain discreet, even when my father leaves for Mercia. I fear your manly attributes won’t suffice to appease him if he finds out,” Aethelwulf adds while walking away.

If he knew how much Ragnar agrees with him. The possibility of Ecbert finding out is always at the back of his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Kwenthrith can’t say she is sad to leave, but she isn’t happy about it either, and this isn’t something she saw coming. She came looking for political and military support, which she got, but somehow she found more. Her nights with Ecbert were a delight –when he could keep up. Besides, Kwenthrith has to admit that getting to know Athelstan led her to seek the company of soldiers or Northmen instead of that of the king. Remorse is an annoying feeling and Kwenthrith wasn’t pleased to realise it is hard to escape it once you look into Athelstan’s earnest eyes.

Kwenthrith sighs as she mounts on her horse. She is growing soft. Hopefully this tendency will recede when she gets back to her kingdom. Oh yes, conspirators and spies will be a wonderful change. It will be relaxing to be among them once again, no remorse surges with people who want to murder you.

Yet Kwenthrith has one last thing to do before she returns to her kingdom of conspirators.

Athelstan is waiting for her in the yard, already on his horse. He greets Kwenthrith with a smile, not the brightest on earth, but genuine. The princess motions her escort to follow them and they all head to the Northmen’s camp.

“Did you enjoy your stay with us, Princess?” Athelstan asks.

“A lot, thank you. Are you glad I’m leaving?”

Athelstan blushes at the teasing, but his voice is steady as he answers.

“I got used to your presence, to be honest. And you have a gift for languages.”

“Oh, that’s because I have a great motivation and an excellent teacher, of course. Although you can be quite distracting.”

“I don’t remember doing anything distracting, Princess.”

“It isn’t something you do,” Kwenthrith whispers.

She expects him to squirm in his saddle, cheeks reddening even more, but he only arches an eyebrow. Maybe he didn’t get the innuendo, it wouldn’t be so surprising.

“I wasn’t aware you had an interest in omegas,” Athelstan replies.

Or maybe he totally understood the innuendo. His time with the Northman did him some good then.

“Anyone who catches my eye has my interest. If you ever come to Mercia, I would be happy to show you how far my interest stretches.”

Was that too much? Athelstan glances back at the men escorting them, but they don’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation. Anyway, who cares? He clears his throat and looks right ahead, determined not to meet Kwenthrith’s stare. Very cute.

“I understand if you feel uncomfortable around a woman, though,” Kwenthrith adds. “You could come with your Northman, I would be more than satisfied to watch you two playing together.”

She has lowered her voice to a whisper, just in case the soldiers could hear them, but Athelstan’s answering cough is anything but quiet. They still have some time until they reach the Northmen’s camp and Kwenthrith is in a playful mood.

“Come on, Athelstan. You spend so much time with this man, you must wonder what is hidden under this black leather… I bet he has amazing muscles. I would love to check out myself, but he only has eyes for you.”

“That’s not true.”

Athelstan’s answer is a bit rushed, yet he is much more convincing than the first time they talked about Ragnar. Good, good for him. Let’s see how long he can go on like this.

“Fine, that is not true. Let’s pretend it is for a while, and that you come to Mercia with him. I would invite both of you in my room, and go sit in a corner while the Northman lays you down on the bed.”

Athelstan swallows and tries to hide his discomfort with a little laugh, but Kwenthrith notices the widening of his pupils.

“Now, I can’t decide if I would rather see him taking you apart with a tender, agonizing pace or fucking you will all of his alpha strength, pressing you in the mattress with his weight. Hmm… we would have to try both.”

These mere thoughts make Kwenthrith feel wet, and the rubbing of the saddle is a nice addition. Athelstan wriggles on his horse, readjusting his robe, and it is a too tempting sight to stop.

“And then, once you are a begging mess between his arms, the Northman would knot you, keeping both of you at my mercy for hours. I would love seeing an alpha joined to his omega.”

“Do you have an insatiable appetite?” Athelstan asks with a frown.

There is more curiosity than annoyance in his tone, and no judgement. Kwenthrith might be tempted to kidnap him.

“Perhaps,” she replies.

“Besides, I am not his omega.”

“Yet you let me go on with this little fantasy without a protest. Maybe you will think about it next time the king beds you.”

“Should I send you a letter to keep you informed on that?”

Oh, ironic. It is too bad they don’t get to discover each other more –one of Kwenthrith’s greatest disappointment.  
The Princess is ready to confirm how great the idea is, however they have reached their destination. They dismount their horses and Kwenthrith gestures for the escort to stay back as Athelstan goes to a Northman, asking for Lagertha.

They don’t have to wait for long until the shieldmaiden arrives, draped in a thick grey fur. She seems rather pleased to see them, greeting them both with a smile.

“So you are leaving us, Princess?” she asks.

This at least Athelstan doesn’t need to translate.

“Yes, and I am here to… renew my offer,” Kwenthrith replies, slightly struggling for her words. She makes a point speaking the language of the people she wants to work with, and she rehearsed her little speech with Athelstan a few times. “If you decided to join me in Mercia, it would be a great pleasure for me.”

Athelstan looks quite proud of her and it is a bit ridiculous, really. That was only a few sentences. Lagertha’s smile doesn’t falter, and this must be a good sign. After all, they haven’t agreed on a deal or anything serious.

“I will consider it, Princess,” the shieldmaiden replies. “Perhaps you will see me with King Ecbert when he visits you this spring.”

“No doubt that would fill me with joy.”

They say their goodbyes, maintaining eye contact a little longer than usual, which Athelstan seems to notice.

“Do you have an interest in Lagertha too?” he whispers while they turn away from the camp.

Kwenthrith can’t help laughing.

“Should I send you a letter to keep you informed on that?” she replies.

***

True to his word, Ecbert gets ready to leave as soon as the leaves start growing on the trees. Obviously, Lagertha decided Mercia was worth it, since she is going with him, most of her warriors following her.

When Athelstan feels bitter, he only thinks about the fact that the king doesn’t waste a single day, and when he prefers looking at the bright side, his thoughts go to all the free moments he is going to have. His traitor mind adds ‘with Ragnar’ more often than not, and Athelstan hates himself for it. He hates himself for not feeling as guilty as he should.

Athelstan is pondering on the slight guilt induced by his lack of remorse while watching the king filling a trunk with robes and furs. He is staring without meaning to, not really paying attention. He doesn’t realise Ecbert is watching him until the king speaks up.

“What is troubling you? You haven’t uttered a word for almost half an hour. It isn’t like you.”

“Oh I… I’m worried about your trip.”

It isn’t a total lie, Athelstan truly hopes Ecbert will stay safe during his travel. Ecbert seems touched by Athelstan’s worry and comes to sit next to him on the bed.

“Everything will be fine, and I’m only going to be away for two weeks. You won’t have time to worry about me.”

Ecbert gives him a peck on the temple to punctuate his words and Athelstan feels even worse when he realises that it doesn’t bring him the comfort it used to. 

“Maybe this trip will do us some good,” Ecbert adds, without sounding too convinced. At least they share the same doubts. “And I will be back before you next heat, you won’t have to go through it alone.”

Athelstan is less sure of this –his heats have been a bit hectic these last months. Yet it is another problem for another day, Athelstan can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers.

***

With the king gone, there seems to be less tension in the castle, or maybe Athelstan is just imagining it because he is relieved. It is awful to be relieved –and a little pleased– by his husband’s absence, but he can’t help it.

That evening there is no feast in the hall, no pretence at being a good, quiet omega. Athelstan eats with Aethelwulf, both of them sitting cross-legged on Aethelwulf’s bed, picking food from a plate between them. Athelstan almost strangles himself with a chicken bone when Aethelwulf starts doing an impersonation of King Horik.

“Why do you distrust him so much?” Athelstan asks when he catches his breath. “He hasn’t done anything against our alliance so far.”

“I don’t like his eyes. He is a snake. However, I believe your Ragnar is an honest man.”

“He isn’t my Ragnar. How can you be so unaffected by the fact I’m almost cheating on your father?”

It may not be a question you ask, but Athelstan often wonders about it and he hates having questions unanswered.

“He is my father, and I love him despite his flaws. Yet he doesn’t treat you well and he slept with Kwenthrith, so in my opinion it is only fair that you find comfort with the Northman. If you had chosen Horik however–”

“Oh, enough and eat your chicken!” Athelstan laughs.

***

Athelstan maintains his lessons with Ragnar, of course, even if the Northman disagrees with it.

“Come on,” he tells Athelstan the morning following Ecbert’s departure. “Your king isn’t here, we could go for a ride. Admit you want to.”

He is been pressing Athelstan to abandon the lesson since they entered the room, and they have done practically nothing.

“We will go, later. First, we proceed as usual.”

Ragnar pouts and even though Athelstan knows he is exaggerating on purpose, he has a hard time containing his laugh.

“You are always so serious,” Ragnar declares with a little shake of his head. “Even your kisses are serious.”

Oh, provocation now.

“My kisses aren’t serious. A kiss can’t be serious, it’s a kiss.”

“A kiss can be many things. Let me show you.”

“You’re just trying to trick me so that we stop our lesson. It is not going to work.”

“It is always about learning with you.”

“I like discovering things. You too, by the way. Your very presence here proves it.”

Ragnar shrugs and as much as Athelstan hates giving up, they won’t get anywhere today.

“Listen, we will stop earlier if you can convince me to go out,” –Ragnar’s smile is priceless, “in English.”

Ragnar’s smile falters a bit, but he doesn’t lose time.

“Fine. If you agree, we can gallop under the… uh, spring-like sun. And lay down in a field of flowers. Or I could teach you things you can’t find in your… books.”

Athelstan’s first thought is that Ragnar would be surprised of what you can find in a book, but they will have this conversation on another day.

“Would you?” he asks.

“Yes, whatever your want.”

Ragnar’s gaze flicks suggestively to Athelstan’s lips –and he expected it– however he has other projects in mind.

“Would you teach me alpha things? Like fighting? Or archery?”

Ragnar stays silent for a little while, frowning.

“These are not ‘alpha things’. Anyone can do it.”

“Sorry, that’s how I call what I am forbidden to do. Ecbert says it is useless for me, that I will always have someone to protect me.”

“But you disagree?”

“I think I should be allowed to choose what is useless or not when it concerns me. So, would you teach me?”

Ragnar’s surprise has already changed into interest, and from what Athelstan can guess, excitement.

“Yes,” he purrs. “But considering how awful you’ve been with your grammar, I won’t be lenient.”

It would take more than that to discourage Athelstan.

***

Athelstan is radiant after their horse-ride, and not only because of the sun. Ragnar hopes the rest of the afternoon will please him as well. At first, his offer of teaching was a half joke, to see how Athelstan would react. The young man’s answer caught him off-guard, yet Ragnar is delighted to discover that Athelstan’s interest covers a wide range of activities. He has a curious nature but Ragnar suspected it only concerned books or languages. Sometimes it can be good to be proven wrong.

They stop at the camp for a while, as Ragnar needs to borrow some arrows. He only leaves Athelstan for two or three minutes, yet when Ragnar comes back he is already deep in conversation with Torstein. Judging from Torstein’s gestures –he is shooting an imaginary arrow and points at various parts of his arms – they are talking about archery.

“May I borrow my young teacher?” Ragnar asks as he reaches them.

Athelstan grins and nudges him lightly.

“Torstein is making your task easier, you should be glad.”

They seem to have a good chemistry together, and if Athelstan likes archery, maybe Torstein could help him next time. From what Ragnar gathered, Athelstan doesn’t get to see a lot of people, and with Torstein he will be safe.

Torstein grabs Ragnar’s upper arm as Athelstan mounts on his horse.

“He is precious this one,” he whispers. “Don’t mess up, my Earl.”

“First, stop drooling. And don’t worry, I’ve already been warned about this.”

Aethelwulf’s warning is still vivid in his mind and it is reinforced each time Aethelwulf gives him a knowing smile during dinner or when they pass each other in a corridor. It doesn’t make him feel uneasy, quite the opposite. Ragnar understands the protectiveness, he is more than tempted to act the same way. Except he has no right to do so.

They trot out of the camp and into the woods, until they reach a little clearing Ragnar spotted a while ago. It is quiet, without being too far from the camp and the castle. There is also enough space for the horses, and the grass seems good.

Actually, archery is perfect for them. When Ragnar has placed the bow and an arrow between Athelstan’s hands, he stands behind him to position his arms and shoulders, and the proximity allows him to whisper directly in Athelstan’s ear.

“Leave more space between your feet, you will have a better balance. And this shoulder, lower it a bit.”

“Pulling on this string is harder than I thought,” Athelstan mutters, frowning with concentration.

“You will discover new muscles of your body by the end of the day,” Ragnar chuckles.

He helps Athelstan adjusting his shoot, and steps back to let him release the arrow, which misses the tree Athelstan aimed for.

“That wasn’t very good,” Athelstan says, turning back to Ragnar.

“It’s your first arrow, give it some time and practice.”

After several attempts, one arrow does graze the trunk. Athelstan takes the shooting stance again, with Ragnar correcting the position of his arms and hips, sometimes murmuring recommendations in his ear.

As Ragnar is in the middle of a sentence, Athelstan lowers his bow and turns his head to look at him. Ragnr struggles to forget how close they are. He would only have to lean down a bit to capture these lips…

“I think this can’t work,” Athelstan declares. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting you? I’m giving you some tips, that’s all.”

“Yes, and I can’t focus with your hand on my hip and your breath tickling my ear.”

Athelstan may say so, but he shifts closer to Ragnar’s, staring at his lips.

“I apologize for the tickling then…”

“But not for distracting me?”

“No.”

Athelstan drops the bow and the arrow and presses both hands on each side of Ragnar’s head with a surprising strength. His lips soon crash on Ragnar’s mouth, and Ragnar takes a step back to steady himself. He wraps his arms around Athelstan’s chest, lifting him a little off the ground. Athelstan laughs against his lips, and Ragnar will never tire of this.  
Ragnar doesn’t know which one lowers them to the ground, but he ends up half lying on Athelstan. Athelstan whimpers in his mouth, arching against him. Ragnar imagined this moment many times, but reality is much better. Still, he has no idea how far Athelstan wants to take this –if he ever wants to take it further. Athelstan arches again when Ragnar strokes his side through the fabric, and if they keep going on like this, Ragnar is going to be hard in no time.

“Ah… maybe… maybe we should slow down,” Athelstan pants, opening his eyes for the first time since they started making out.

“Yes, we should. Definitely.”

Slowing down doesn’t mean putting some space between them however, and they remain intertwined, trading kisses and little bites. Ragnar can understand that Athelstan wants to stay away from sex. He often wonders if this is because Athelstan still loves Ecbert, or because of his sense of loyalty. Ragnar has seen him looking guilty enough times to know that he is conflicted about this situation.

When they tire of kissing, they lay in the grass, staying close to each other. The weather may be fine, but the sun is chilly at this time of year, and they won’t remain warm for long. But for now, everything is fine.

“Are you happy?” Ragnar asks.

Athelstan looks at him curiously, and it takes a while for him to answer.

“Yes,” he replies, and as he buries his face into Ragnar’s neck, the Northman can feel Athelstan’s smile on his skin.


	8. Chapter 8

Athelstan and Ragnar fall into an easy routine during the first week they spend together. It is so natural that it becomes a bit scary, and Athelstan tries not to think too much about it. They spend their morning as usual with Ragnar’s lessons and the Northman is making visible progress. Then they head to the woods for the afternoon, to ride or practice archery. Sometimes Torstein joins them and Athelstan feels like they could become great friends.

Athelstan still copies some scrolls from time to time, but not as much as he should. The memory of Ragnar’s lips over his skin generally distracts him after two or three lines of copying. Athelstan thinks about the Northman’s hands stroking his body through his clothes, like he wants to discover every part of Athelstan but doesn’t dare to. God, Athelstan knows he wants Ragnar to do it. However, he also fears it. If they take that step, there will be no coming back from it. First, because Athelstan feels attached to Ragnar now and the physical intimacy could only make it worse. Athelstan fears that if he experiences it once, he will never be able to live without Ragnar’s touches again. But this is the least of his problems if he considers the whole situation. Maybe Ecbert could forgive him for kissing Ragnar, but sex is another story. It could get Ragnar killed, Athelstan is sure of it. And he isn’t going to risk this man’s life for silly carnal needs –that’s what it is, in addition to a sin of adultery. Athelstan feels his resolve slip away from him day by day but he wants to stay strong as long as he can.

Staying strong becomes harder towards the end of their second week. Ecbert is supposed to come back in two days and Athelstan is preparing himself for his return. He isn’t prepared to see an envoy from the king’s escort returning to the castle. The man carries a letter with him, which he brings to Athelstan while he is in the middle of a lesson with Ragnar. For a second Athelstan fears something happened to Ecbert. Why else would he receive a letter? However, when he opens it with trembling hands, he realises the letter was written and signed by the king. Athelstan could recognize his handwriting among a thousand.

Athelstan doesn’t know what to think as he reads the message. His face must be doing something strange, because Ragnar leans towards him, hand curling on Athelstan’s collarbone with caution.

“Is it bad news?”

“No. I’m not sure…”

Athelstan lets the parchment lay flat on the table, and he grabs Ragnar’s hand, still on his shoulder.

“Ecbert isn’t coming back this week. He delayed his return to the end of the month.”

“Then it is more time outside for you,” Ragnar says in an attempt for comfort.

Indeed, but it is also a heat alone. Athelstan experienced it only once, when he was still living at the monastery. It wasn’t pleasant. Although this isn’t the reason behind Athelstan’s worry. The king doesn’t say why he doesn’t come back. Maybe he is getting really fond of Kwenthrith, and tired of Athelstan. What is going to happen to him if Ecbert discards him? Athelstan doesn’t want to find out.

“He is supposed to meet King Aella, right?” Ragnar asks. “A meeting between kings, a kingdom at war, these things take a long time. Kings are slow to take decisions. You have nothing to do with this.”

“Yes. I’m anxious, that’s all. Yet I’m glad we get more time together.”

It isn’t a lie, if his heat weren’t coming everything would be perfect. Athelstan leans into Ragnar, willing himself to see the brightest side of things. Anyway, being anxious won’t improve his situation.

“You will have more time to practice with the bow,” Ragnar says in his ear, between kisses in his hair. “You’re getting good at it, it would be a shame to stop now.”

The bow leaves Athelstan’s arms and shoulders quite sore, but he likes it. He is already thinking of a way to keep practicing in secret when Ecbert comes back, because giving up would be a great disappointment.

“I could also teach you a few other tricks,” Ragnar adds, nuzzling his throat. “Using a dagger, for example.”

“Hmm.”

Athelstan leans into the Northman’s chest, half on his chair and half on Ragnar’s lap. He gives Ragnar an open-mouthed kiss, one hand gripping the back of his strong neck to keep some balance. As Ragnar closes his eyes and loses himself into the kiss, Athelstan’s other hand slides down until it reaches the little dagger Ragnar always wears at his belt.

Athelstan breaks the kiss for air, giving Ragnar the opportunity to attack his throat.

“I believe I already know a few things about using a dagger,” Athelstan says.

“How is that?” Ragnar replies, more interested by Athelstan’s throat than by the conversation.

Athelstan giggles and takes the dagger out of its sheath swiftly, hand flying up to press it against Ragnar’s throat. The Northman tenses for a split second as the cold metal touches his skin, then he resumes his ministrations upon Athelstan’s neck.

“I see your little hands aren’t only made for tenderness, then,” Ragnar says after a light bite on Athelstan’s jugular, which leaves him shivering.

“I believe one can kill with tenderness.”

Ragnar hums and goes down to the base of Athelstan’s neck, leaving a wet trail behind.

“Do you wish to kill me?”

“Of course not,” Athelstan replies. “I only wanted to surprise you.”

“That you did.”

Ragnar raises his head and they smile to each other, and Athelstan feels ridiculously happy. He throws the dagger aside on the table and puts both arms around Ragnar’s neck.

“What?” he asks after a few seconds spent with Ragnar staring at him with a curious expression.

“I didn’t feel anything when you took the dagger.”

“That’s understandable. You were occupied elsewhere.”

Ragnar narrows his eyes at Athelstan, and he slides his hands down to pinch his ass. Athelstan squeaks and shifts closer to him. Among all the moments they share, the playful ones are his favourites.

“Don’t take your teacher tone with me. It is a serious matter,” Ragnar adds. “I didn’t feel anything and your hand was firm when you pressed the dagger on my neck. You know how to use it.”

“Very observant.”

Athelstan chuckles when Ragnar pinches him again.

“Someone taught you. It can’t be your king, considering letting you ride a horse is an issue to him.”

“Aethelwulf taught me. One day, shortly after I arrived here, he saw a soldier eyeing me. He said it wasn’t safe for me to be surrounded by alphas –or men– all stronger than me. Therefore, he taught me some basics in secret, just in case. I don’t carry a weapon, but almost all men here do.”

“Yes, but what are you going to do if your attacker restrains your hands?”

Easy. Athelstan opens his mouth to answer, but Ragnar suddenly shoves them both to the ground –still making sure Athelstan doesn’t fall too hard in the process– and pins his wrists by his sides.

“As I was saying, what do you do in that case?”

Ragnar has his predatory look, yet Athelstan doesn’t feel threatened for a second. Sure, Ragnar could snap his neck without any effort, but Athelstan can’t feel threatened by him.

“I only have to ensure my attacker doesn’t feel the need to restrain me,” Athelstan whispers.

He squirms under Ragnar to free his legs, rubbing their hips in the process, and wraps them around the Northman’s waist. Athelstan tightens them without warning, and the friction it creates between them is wonderful. Ragnar’s fingers jerk around his wrists, and his grip loosens. Athelstan stretches his neck to reach Ragnar’s jaw, kissing his way up to his mouth. He circles his hips, both of them growing harder now, and combines it with the most sensual kiss he can manage. That’s it, Ragnar releases him, one hand cradling the side of Athelstan’s face while the other fumbles to get under his robe.

“You see?” Athelstan whispers once Ragnar’s hand has found his way up to his thigh, getting closer to his cock and all tangled in the fabric. “That’s when I would steal your dagger and slit your throat, were you assaulting me.”

“Clever. I guess Aethelwulf didn’t teach you this?”

Athelstan laughs. The idea never crossed his mind, and he is pretty sure it never crossed Aethelwulf’s mind either.

Ragnar seems to regain a little control, drawing back to squint at him.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, sounding unsure. “Not that it matters. I’m just curious.”

“No. Not everyone wants to sleep with me.”

Moreover, Aethelwulf is a friend, almost a brother. Athelstan can’t imagine having sex with him. He lowers one leg, using it to press on Ragnar’s backside.

“From the way you focus on talking, I suspect you don’t want to sleep with me either, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Athelstan is about to commit a sin, against his husband and against his faith, but it doesn’t seem enough to keep him away from this man. He wants everything that is Ragnar and even if it is frightening, how can it be a sin?

Ragnar stares at him one second more and crushes their lips together while his hand keeps wandering to extremely interesting places.

“Are you sure?” Ragnar asks in a ragged breath.

“Yes!”

Athelstan doesn’t even take a second to think about it, he doesn’t need to. He may have never been so sure of something in his whole life. Ragnar resumes what he was doing and Athelstan lays his head back on the floor, even if it is a bit too hard and a bit too cold compared to the Northman’s touch. He closes his eyes to enjoy the moment, aware of every sound they make.

This is why Athelstan hears the echo of distant footsteps in the hallway, and by the time his mind registers the person at the source of said footsteps is coming to this room, the echo doesn’t sound distant anymore. Their room is the only one in use in this hallway.

“Someone’s coming!” Athelstan exclaims as he shoves Ragnar off him.

The Northman hits the ground with a thump and a disoriented expression, but Athelstan will apologize later. He grabs Ragnar’s hand and hoists him on his feet, then pushes him back on his chair. Their visitor knocks on the door at the precise moment Athelstan sits down as well.

“Yes?” Athelstan answers.

A servant comes in, not a soldier or Aethelwulf, not even the bishop –but why would the bishop be here anyway? Athelstan really needs to relax. He bows to Athelstan, glancing warily at Ragnar.

“The envoy sent by your husband asks if you want to write to the king before he returns to Mercia.”

“Yes, tell him I’m writing it now. Thank you.”

Athelstan’s heartbeat slows down once the servant retires. It was close. He looks at Ragnar and they share a nervous laugh. 

“I guess we have to find another place,” Ragnar declares.

Yes, they do. And for now, the moment is ruined.

***

They go into the woods the following day, but not to their usual clearing. Ragnar has found another one, a little more remote. They haven’t spoken about it, but they both want more privacy. Even if they aren’t doing anything, it is better to be in a place where no one is likely to walk in on them.

“Today, we’re working with blades,” Ragnar tells Athelstan. “You weren’t bad yesterday, but I am not convinced it would be enough to defend yourself. You need to know how to fight.”

“Which will induce much more physical contact than archery, right?” Athelstan replies.

“I see you’re a fast learner.”

They practice, they really do, even if they take it as an excuse to let their hands wander a littler longer on a thigh or to grip each other with more vigour than necessary. Ragnar teaches Athelstan how to throw an opponent to the ground, and Athelstan is quite proud to realise he is faster than Ragnar seemed to expect, even though the robe sometimes restrains his movements. He doesn’t have anything else to wear anyway.

Athelstan shoves Ragnar to the ground –the Northman doesn’t put up much struggle, but still– and Athelstan presses the tip of his dagger under his chin.

“You’re making it easy,” Athelstan scowls. “I’m not going to learn much if it is too easy.”

“You need to learn the movements first, then we will come to the harder part.”

“I hope so, because…”

Athelstan stops mid-sentence, frowning. He is feeling very hot, more than if he were just sweaty with exertion. Smells become sharper, and his legs weaken under his weight. He drops the dagger in the grass, falling on his knees next to Ragnar. His heat. It shouldn’t happen now, he still has two days. Except his heats aren’t regular anymore, and Athelstan wants to kick himself. He should have been more careful.

Ragnar straightens up, putting his hand between Athelstan’s shoulder blades. Athelstan hisses, digging his nail in the ground. He glances at Ragnar, and he can see concern mixed with hunger on his face. Of course Ragnar doesn’t need to ask what is wrong, he can smell it. 

“What should I do?” the Northman asks, a little panicked.

If Athelstan weren’t focusing on the fluid now dripping between his legs and the intense desire building inside of him, he would laugh. If Ragnar weren’t so close to him, he would follow reason and tell him to bring him back to the castle. But for that, they have to ride for a long time and Athelstan would have to bear the rubbing of the saddle and the feeling of Ragnar pressed behind him at the same time, because he wouldn’t be able to ride alone. Then Athelstan would have to endure his heat alone in his rooms for days and that’s not what he wants. It goes against his instincts and his desires. He has only one satisfying answer.

“Take me. Please, take me.”

Both of Ragnar’s hands are on him immediately, but they are not rough, contrary to what Athelstan expected. Ragnar splays one hand on his cheek, fitting his thumb under his jaw, and turns Athelstan’s face with the same delicacy which never fails to surprise him. He looks at Athlestan’s lips with envy, but doesn’t cross the damn distance separating them.

“I want it,” Athelstan insists. “I wanted you to do it yesterday, and today I –today I want it even more.”

It is not the right time for hesitation and Athelstan shifts to half lie on Ragnar’s lap, pressing him down on his back. He uses this new position to rut against the Northman’s thigh, and it brings a little relief. Ragnar’s hands fly up to grab his ass, fingers spread on his cheeks. Athelstan groans and gives him a bruising kiss, and he squirms again when he feels Ragnar’s hardness poking against his hip.

“I want you,” Ragnar groans, digging his fingers between Athelstan’s cheeks.

Athelstan arches, pressing into his grip, trying to urge him inside. But Ragnar seems intent on taking it slow, and he doesn’t even move to pull up Athelstan’s robe. Well, perhaps Athelstan can push him on edge. He thrusts against Ragnar’s hips, trying to unlace his breeches. 

“Impatient,” Ragnar teases.

“More than you could think.”

Athelstan’s erection is starting to feel more painful than pleasurable, and he is desperately empty. At last, Ragnar decides to slip his hands under the fabric, and the feel of skin on skin is already better. He settles his hands back where they where, bringing his middle finger closer to Athelstan’s entrance, circling it. Athelstan whines and spreads his legs as much as he can. Later, he will feel ashamed of it. He always does, when the heat fades. Right now, he only wants more.

Ragnar pushes the tip of his finger inside, always with that circling movement. It is a torture, but the sweetest Athelstan has ever known.

“I hate you sometimes,” he growls against Ragnar’s lips.

Forming coherent sentences is becoming difficult, so Athelstan proves his point by grabbing Ragnar’s cock through his pants. The Northman’s body jerks up, and it brings his whole finger inside of Athelstan, which is exactly what he wanted. Ragnar arches his eyebrows and gives a little slap on his ass. The sound is obscene, yet Athelstan loves it.

“That was low,” Ragnar admonishes. 

“I don’t care.”

Ragnar chuckles and pushes another finger in him, alongside the first.

“It’s not your fingers I need!”

“Oh? I think you do.”

Ragnar pushes the new finger wholly in, and it’s true the stretch feels nice, but not as nice as it would be with something larger. Athelstan doesn’t want to wait any longer and he sits up to take off his robe, burying Ragnar’s fingers in him even more in the process. Ragnar bites his lower lip as soon as he catches sight of Athelstan’s naked chest.

“You have wonderful nipples.”

“You’re not… you’re not touching them unless your cock is in me,” Athelstan warns.

“Deal.”

Ragnar sits up too and slips his fingers out of Athelstan, squeezing his cheeks before getting rid of his tunic. Athelstan scrambles away so he can take off his pants and as soon as this is done, they are pressing against each other again, desperate as if they had been separated for weeks. The feeling it brings is glorious. Thankfully, the nakedness puts an end to Ragnar’s teasing and he moves Athelstan on his hands and knees. That’s good, because Athelstan was dripping on him and that was getting awkward. From what he has seen, Ragnar is bigger than he expected, and his old fear about knotting resurfaces, even through his clouding mind.

Ragnar must have notices his anxiousness, as he bends over Athelstan and runs his hands along his sides in a soothing gesture.

“We can still stop,” he says in Athelstan’s ear.

His cock is pressing against Athelstan’s ass and his voice is strained, but he sounds sincere. Moreover he is an alpha, he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to.

“God, no. Just… be gentle towards t-the end. It’s a sensitive part.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Ragnar kisses his ear and straightens up behind him. He shuffles on his knees to spread further Athelstan’s legs. Soon Athelstan feels the head of his cock breach him, and he lets out a little “ah” of pleasure. The stretch burns a little, but it doesn’t become painful. Ragnar gives him time to adjust, or maybe he is just teasing because he waits until Athelstan starts squirming before pushing in again. He squeezes Athelstan’s hips as he keeps pushing, and he lets out a deep breath when he fully settles in. Athelstan sighs as wells, and he can’t resist the urge to thrust back on Ragnar’s cock. He has had enough of waiting.

“I love your enthusiasm,” Ragnar mutters, but he bends over Athelstan, covering his shorter frame like a second skin. He is not pressing with all is weight, yet it is enough to stop Athelstan’s squirming. “I want to fuck you, Athelstan, nice and thorough. I want us to take our time.”

Athelstan is going to explode, pre-come is already leaking from his cock. He shivers, his head hanging low, baring his nape to Ragnar, like he once did for Ecbert.

“I want to breed you,” Ragnar whispers, his nose pressing on Athelstan’s nape, but not biting in.

Athelstan’s strangled moan echoes in the clearing. He tries to reach for his cock, but his trembling arms won’t cooperate. Ragnar laughs at his frustrated groan, and wraps his large hand around his cock, stroking it in a steady rhythm and combining it with tiny thrusts. To Athelstan’s demand, the tiny thrusts grow rougher, and he closes his eyes to enjoy his building pleasure.

Suddenly Ragnar changes his angle, pushing a little upward, and Athelstan sees stars. He shouts and his elbows give out under him. Ragnar starts pounding behind him, hitting that spot again and again, each time followed by Athelstan’s yelps. He isn’t the vocal type in bed, except during his heats. And this heat is a glorious one.

Athelstan won’t last much longer, and his limbs can’t support him anymore, so he lowers his legs, stretching them on each side of Ragnar. The position forces Ragnar to lie upon him, burying himself deep inside. Somehow he manages to keep stroking him, whispering nonsense in Norse. His thrusts change rhythm again, pushing Athelstan into the ground. The pressure it brings is amazing and with a final twist of Ragnar’s hand around his cock, Athelstan comes with a shout, which ends in a whimper.

His heart is about to beat his way out of his ribcage, however Athelstan already feels calmer. At ease. He lies limp on his belly, losing himself in the rhythm of Ragnar’s thrusts, turning quicker but gentler as his knot starts growing. Athelstan doesn’t want to, but he tenses all over again as he is being stretched unnaturally wide.

Ragnar reaches up to kiss him, slipping one hand under him to toy with a nipple. The distraction is quite welcome.

“It’s fine, Athelstan. You’re ready for it, don’t be afraid.”

Athelstan nods in the grass and Ragnar’s hips stutter. He locks himself within him with one last thrust, filling him with come as he kisses Athelstan’s shoulder. To his surprise, Athelstan doesn’t feel as much in pain as he expected. It is not really comfortable, but it is fine and he is less feverish. A strange warmth wraps around his heart as the lie down on their sides, and he supposes it is the euphoria of the moment. Ragnar curls around Athelstan to kiss him, both arms wrapped around his chest as if he were trying to melt into Athelstan. Athelstan shifts to accommodate him and the movement brings new shudders as he twists around the alpha’s cock.

Athelstan presses back into the warm embrace, covering Ragnar’s arms with his. He is happy, more than he has been in a long time during a heat, and he doesn’t need to turn to know Ragnar is too. He knows it, as if he could feel the Northman’s happiness deep down, which is impossible, but Athelstan doesn’t want to be rational right now.

God knows being rational is hard when the only thing Athelstan wants is to give his heart to the man lying behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this was more sex than plot, but I swear it was crucial for the plot ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Ragnar seizes the first opportunity they have –which happens hours later– to dress Athelstan and put him on his horse. As much as he would like to, they can’t stay in the woods for three days. Athelstan can’t stay away from the castle for so long, even with Ecbert away. Yet Ragnar is reluctant to bring him back since it means Athelstan will have to remain on his own.

Ragnar hoists himself behind Athelstan, who isn’t whining at least, but still trying to rub his ass against him. It is already difficult to think, Ragnar won’t be able to make it with a hard-on again. He grabs the reins of Athelstan’s horse and they go back to the castle at a slow pace. Ragnar decides to make a detour and avoid the camp. If anyone smells them, they will know what happened right away.

As they get closer to the castle, Athelstan mutters instructions to Ragnar, his head lolling on his shoulder. Ragnar strives to focus on his voice and not the scent of his hair, or the wetness spreading between them on the saddle. Athelstan directs him to another gate, less used than the main one. A beta soldier is standing above the gate, upon the wall. He can’t smell Athelstan but it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t maintain a certain level of decency.

“We’re almost there,” Ragnar whispers, nudging Athelstan’s back to straighten him, even if he loathes the loss of physical contact.

Athelstan complies with a displeased groan, and they pass the gate with nothing more than a puzzled look from the soldier. Fortunately, their long stay in the woods means night is almost there, and the yard is empty. Good, the less people they see, the better.

Ragnar stops by the stables and dismounts his horse, then helps Athelstan down and settles him on a haystack while he takes the horses inside. Ragnar considers his saddle for a while, not knowing what to do with it. He settles on hiding it a corner with an unused rag on it, praying no alpha will come down here.

“I… I don’t think I can walk,” Athelstan tells him with an apologetic smile as Ragnar comes out of the stables.

He is squirming on the haystack, pressing his legs together. It takes a lot of willpower not to pounce on him here and then. Ragnar picks him up, cradling him in his arms, and Athelstan guides him to his room, indicating the less used hallways. Ragnar almost believes they will make it there without being noticed, when they encounter the worst person of all in the hallway leading to Athelstan’s bedroom. Aethelwulf –and Ragnar really was a fool to think the king’s son wouldn’t look for Athelstan.

Mixed feelings surge in Ragnar as their eyes meet. First, he doesn’t know if Aethelwulf’s threat extends to sex during a heat. Maybe. Probably. Then this thought is replaced by a need to protect the man between his arms, because Aethelwulf is an alpha. Ragnar believes he can trust him as a man, but as an alpha in front of an omega in heat? He won’t take that risk, so he tightens his arms around Athelstan –who has his eyes closed and his nose buried against Ragnar’s neck– and bares his teeth.

Aethelwulf’s eyes flicker to Athelstan, but more to check if he is okay than to challenge Ragnar. It is a relief, and Ragnar will panic later regarding the fact Aethelwulf has proof that Ragnar betrayed Ecbert, in one of the worst possible ways.

“Tell me it’s not what it looks –and smells– like,” Aethelwulf says, stepping closer.

Athelstan whimpers in Ragnar’s arms, and the Northman can feel him growing hard again against his chest. Two alphas in such a narrow space must be overwhelming.

“It wasn’t planned,” Ragnar replies, and he can’t find anything else to say.

“Oh. Awesome. Just get in there.”

Aethelwulf opens the door of Athelstan’s bedroom, arching his eyebrows when Ragnar doesn’t move.

“Are you deaf? Get in there and don’t leave this room, I will make sure no one comes here.”

This is beyond Ragnar’s understanding, but he isn’t going to complain.

“Why?” he asks nonetheless as he moves to go into the bedroom.

Aethelwulf glances at Athelstan, sighing a little.

“He needs it. Now, hurry before someone walks in on us!”

***

The two following days might be amongst the best Ragnar ever experienced. They alternate between rough and fast fucking when Athelstan’s heat becomes too unbearable, and languid when they are locked together –mainly because of a lack of energy and Athelstan’s over-sensitiveness. It’s good too, it makes Ragnar feel like they have all the time in the world.

They don’t leave the bed, except for Ragnar when he hears a soft knock on the door indicating that Aethelwulf left food and water for them in the hallway. He comes three times a day, always on time. If they become friends one day, which Ragnar wouldn’t mind so much, teasing Aethelwulf about his devotion to the task would be a delight.

On the third morning, Ragnar awakes earlier than usual. The air is still heavy with the smell of sex, but he can tell Athelstan’s heat is over. Moreover, the young omega is sprawled on his stomach, snoring lightly and no more twitching in a semblance of sleep. Ragnar pushes away the locks falling an Athelstan’s face and watches him sleep for a while, before deciding it is creepy and that he needs to find some food. He gets up, careful not to wake Athelstan and goes to the basin of water at the other side of the room to wash himself a bit. If he doesn’t encounter an alpha no one will smell Athelstan on him –and there aren’t so many alphas in this castle– but he has to be cautious. Not that a little water will do a lot, but well. And hopefully, his clothes don’t smell too much.

Finding the kitchens isn’t much trouble, and considering that the sun isn’t even up and that there is no king to serve, they are empty. Ragnar grabs a piece of dried meat, some apples and bread. As he makes his way out, trying not to drop anything, he feels a brief panic invading him, followed by anxiousness. Ragnar doesn’t feel panicked. Well, he felt it, but it wasn’t him. He has no reason to. Besides, it was like witnessing someone else’s distress. The anxiousness remains, yet it isn’t his. Oh. Maybe…

Ragnar rushes back to Athelstan’s bedroom, and he finds him half sitting-up, eyes wide. A wave of relief washes over Ragnar as soon as their eyes meet. Again, even if he is relieved to see that Athelstan is fine, the feeling doesn’t seem to be wholly his.

“I thought you were gone,” Athelstan tells him. “You weren’t there and… I don’t know how to explain, it felt wrong. I think I freaked out a bit.”

“I would never leave you alone like that.”

Ragnar feels ridiculous sounding so solemn while carrying all this food, so he plasters a wide grin on his face and climbs on the bed, handing some meat to Athelstan.

“Eat, you need strength after all the exertion.”

The feeling issue is quite puzzling, so Ragnar prefers focusing on needs that are more carnal. The sight of Athelstan biting in the meat with an appreciative hum provides a good distraction too.

“Was it okay?” the Northman asks after Athelstan swallows a mouthful of food. “I mean, during the heat, was I okay with you?”

“More than okay,” Athelstan replies, leaning to press a peck on his lips.

Ragnar waits until they are done with breakfast to leave. Honestly, he doesn’t want to, even for a short time. But they both need to clean and he must see Floki.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ragnar promises and Athelstan gives him a trusting smile, which makes it even harder to leave.

As he makes his way to the camp, Ragnar finds himself in bright mood, realizing at some point that he has been humming to himself for several minutes. It is nice, but this is not something he tends to do and it confirms his doubts. He heads straight away for Floki’s hut and it is a relief to find him there, even if it is still early. The shipbuilder is carving a little piece of wood, sitting on a log with Torstein. The blond Northman beams at Ragnar and drags him on the log, pushing Floki to make him some space.

“We feared we would never see you again, my Earl,” Torstein says. “Did your little omega kidnap you?”

“Err…”

Ragnar glances around but they are in a remote part of the camp and there is no one listening to their conversation. Floki stops his carving and leans forward to look at Ragnar, an apprehensive expression on his face.

“Is Bjorn around?” Ragnar asks.

“No… why?” Floki replies, exchanging a frown with Torstein.

Good. Ragnar doesn’t want his son to hear about this accidentally. He doesn’t want to tell him right now, he still has too many things to figure out.

“Athelstan was in heat,” Ragnar whispers.

“Ah. What did you do?” Torstein asks, torn between curiosity and worry.

“Well, I couldn’t just stand there and watch, right? So I helped him.”

“And by helping you mean…” Floki wriggles his fingers in the air, miming something incomprehensible, but his intent is pretty clear anyway.

“Yes, I mean exactly that. And now I have a serious problem.”

“You lucky bastard,” Torstein says, staring in the distance with a longing air, and Ragnar doesn’t want to know what he’s picturing in his mind.

“Anyone sleeping with an omega already mated would have a serious problem,” Floki adds, resuming his carving.

“Yeah, but that’s not the issue. It’s a part of it.” Ragnar glances around again and takes a deep breath. “I believe we have a soul bond.”

Torstein chokes on nothing and Floki’s hand jerks out of control, digging the knife into the piece of wood, but the shipbuilder doesn’t pay any attention to it.

“Come again?” he hisses.

“No, you heard me. I’m not sure though, I need your advice.”

“Take your ship and go back to Kattegat before the king returns,” Torstein supplies, and that was a really useless comment.

“You’re not helping. I think I can feel Athelstan’s emotions. I felt anxious this morning when I left him alone, while I had no reason to. And I was humming when I came here, a tune I don’t even know.”

“Yes, plus it is well-known Ragnar Lothbrok doesn’t hum,” Torstein says.

Ignoring the remark is the best strategy.

“I need to know if the bond can be broken.”

Torstein’s outraged reply is immediate. “You’re going to break his heart if you do that.”

“I’m not… Seriously, I don’t want to break the bond, I want to make sure no one else is going to do it. Floki, do you know anything about this?”

“You fell for him,” Floki simply replies.

“We have a soul bond, so yes, I guess I did.”

“No no no, you fell for him. Long before the soul bond. We’re doomed.”

Ragnar waves his hand, still waiting for his answer.

“Well, take it as good or bad news –that’s up to you– the bond can’t be broken,” Floki announces. “Except if one of you dies.”

To Ragnar it is good news. Problematic, but good.

“According to our laws, being a soulmate is stronger than being a husband,” Ragnar says. “If I want to take Athelstan back with us, Ecbert can’t oppose to it.”

“According to our laws, yes,” Torstein agrees. “But this isn’t our country. The Saxons may not consider it the same way.”

“Ecbert can’t keep my soulmate away from me.”

Floki snorts. “I think Ecbert doesn’t care about your feelings. And he can keep you away from each other. Being soulmates doesn’t imply being physically close, even if it’s better. You’ll both be sad and miserable, but you’ll live.”

“Feeling each other’s sadness must be horrible,” Torstein muses out loud.

“I wonder if you’ll be able to feel what Athelstan feels when Ecbert fucks him,” Floki adds.

Ragnar gets up with a groan and leaves before he hits one of them. He has to speak with Athelstan anyway, since the young man doesn’t seem to be aware of what is going on.

As he gets closer to the castle and Athelstan’s bedroom, Ragnar feels as if his heart were doing tiny jumps in his chest, and it isn’t only because he senses Athelstan’s joy. They parted less than two hours ago, yet Ragnar already wants to take him in his arms and keep him there forever. It is a shame to shatter this peace, but he has no other choice.

Athelstan is in the process of taming his hair when Ragnar walks back into the room. He settles for a loose ponytail, some strands still wild around his head.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Athelstan tells Ragnar as he goes to him and locks his arms around the Northman’s neck. “I felt weird this morning. Like… like some of my emotions were misplaced. I must sound crazy.”

If Athelstan noticed something weird, the news might be easier to share. At least he is prepared, somehow.

“You’re not crazy. There is something I need to tell you about this.”

Ragnar can’t resist kissing the worried crease appearing on Athelstan’s forehead, and he motions him to the bed where they sit side by side.

“I went to see my friend Floki. He knows a lot about alphas and omegas, and I needed his opinion regarding some… doubts I had. We can feel each other’s emotions, so if you felt annoyed when you had no reason to, that was my annoyance.”

“Which means?”

“That we are soulmates. The bond appeared during your heat.”

“Oh.”

Athelstan looks down at his lap and Ragnar can almost hear him thinking. He has to admit he didn’t expect such a calm reaction, and it worries him a bit.

“Were you annoyed to be my soulmate?”

Shit, wrong example. Ragnar takes Athelstan in his arms, shaking him playfully.

“Of course not. Floki and Torstein were saying stupid jokes, that’s all. Being your soulmate is a great gift.”

Athelstan still looks worried, but there is some relief on his face.

“What can we do about the bond?” Athelstan asks.

“Nothing. We could probably hide it, if necessary. Physical distance isn’t pleasant, but it’s manageable, and others can’t perceive our bond.”

Ragnar said ‘if necessary’, but they are both aware he should have said ‘when necessary’.

“So I will only want you by my side all the time, right?”

“Right. Your husband doesn’t have to know.”

“We’re lost.”

“We’ll find a way.”

Ragnar doesn’t say so just to comfort Athelstan, they will find a way. They have to –he can’t imagine a life without Athelstan in it. They still have two full weeks together, they might find a solution before Ecbert comes back. Meanwhile, they’ll make the most out of their remaining time.

***

King Horik is bored. He came back to England to have his revenge and all he has is a shitty camp in rainy country. Today isn’t rainy, but it doesn’t make it any less shitty. Horik only wants to set sails and go home, it would be safer than staying here, with Lagertha gone to Mercia and Ragnar growing closer to the Saxons. Give Ragnar another month and he is going to walk hand in hand with King Ecbert.

Horik grunts and throws away the blades of grass he was toying with, looking up just in time to see one of his men running towards him. Maybe he is bringing news that will tear Horik out of his boredom. The warrior stops in front of him, out of breath and hands on his knees.

“I was… I was hunting and… there is something you have to see,” the warrior pants.

“Catch your breath, first. What is it?”

“Ragnar… Lothbrok… You must follow me.”

If it involves Ragnar, then Horik doesn’t want to waste a second. His warrior will breathe later. They go deep into the woods, in an area Horik has never seen before. At some point, Horik hears the sound of running water, and what might be someone’s laugh, but it’s faint so he isn’t sure. His warrior puts his forefinger on his lips and crouches down as they climb up an embankment. Horik imitates him, and they both lie down on their bellies when they reach the edge, hidden by thick weeds.

Horik can’t believe what he sees. It is strange, because he can’t believe it, yet a part of him suspected it.

“They were making out on the riverside when I saw them,” the warrior whispers.

And they are still doing so, mostly. Ragnar and the omega. They are standing below, at the edge of a stream. Except now, they are also peeling their clothes away.

“You did a good job,” Horik mutters. “Go back to camp, don’t speak a word of this to anyone.”

His warrior nods and backs away, quiet as a cat. Ragnar and the omega haven’t noticed anything. They are naked now, and Ragnar is trying to drag the Saxon into water. They are both laughing, and the little whore is wriggling to escape Ragnar’s grasp.

“You go first, it’s too cold!” he exclaims, but Ragnar drags him in the stream anyway.

If this was up to Horik, he would just drown the omega in it. Their laughs turn into hisses as the water hits their naked bodies. Ragnar sinks down until water level reaches above his shoulders, while the omega waits in front of him, arms wrapped around himself.

“It is not so bad,” Ragnar tells him.

He stands up to grab the omega’s waist and press their hips together while they kiss. Disgusting. The omega puts his arms on Ragnar’s shoulders, hoisting himself up to wrap his legs around Ragnar’s waist.

“We’re getting there,” Horik mutters to himself.

Ragnar secures the omega’s position by pressing his hands under his ass and considering how they move against each other, Horik could bet they are already hard. The omega closes his eyes and smiles against Ragnar’s mouth. He should enjoy it while he can, this won’t last. Ragnar spins around, the movement splashing water around them, until he loses balance and they both tumble into the water. The omega yelps and makes his way to the bank, only to be tackled on the muddy ground by Ragnar. He puts up a mild struggle, rubbing their cocks together in the process, and it looks like a well-known dance between them.

“Bitch,” Horik whispers.

He had sensed something unusual when Ragnar disappeared for several days approximately a week ago. After that, he had spent much more time than before with the omega, staying longer into the woods. Horik had only asked some of his men to keep an eye on their come and go, he wouldn’t risk following Ragnar. Now, all he needs is to see Ragnar putting his cock into the omega, and he will have definite proof against them. Ragnar may not have made a move against Horik yet, but he allied with Ecbert against Horik’s will. Now he fucks his husband, how long before he decides to side completely with the Saxons?

Ragnar stretches his arm to fumble blindly among their clothes, fishing out a little jar. He opens it with one hand and dips his fingers in it –probably oil– then sticks them into the omega, tearing a filthy moan from him, and teases him for a long time. Too long for Horik’s taste. He wouldn’t mind taking the omega himself, but seeing Ragnar doing it? No, thank you. At last, Ragnar lines with the omega’s hole and pushes in, little gasps escaping both of them. Horik has what he wanted, and he backs off, careful to avoid stepping on a twig or pushing a rock. Soon, the sound of the stream covers the moans coming from the omega.

Horik’s day ends better than it started, without a doubt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence/physical abuse in this chapter. Also there is a short talk about abortion, a few lines but just in case, I prefer warning you.

Athelstan’s mornings are pleasant these days. He wakes up alone –they can’t afford the risk of Ragnar staying in his room until dawn– but in a good mood. He feels loved and cared for, and it goes beyond the soul bond. This thought is with him every morning when he opens his eyes, stretching in his bed.

But not today. Today Athelstan doesn’t have time to stretch or to think. He wakes up to a weird sensation. Nausea, his mind provides, and before he can ask himself if he ate something wrong the day before, the nausea turns into a urge to throw up, and Athelstan only has time to get out of bed to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor. He grunts and wipes his mouth. There must have been something wrong with his last meal.

When the nausea comes back the following morning, Athelstan understands that his meals may not be responsible. He fears they may not be responsible. It’s been twelve days since his heat. It could be… no, let’s hope it is not. Nonetheless, when Athelstan sees Ragnar, he can’t help telling him.

“I’ve been sick, two mornings in a row.”

Ragnar’s eyes go wide, and he looks down at Athelstan’s belly. He opens his mouth but no words come out.

“Say something,” Athelstan insists. “Do you think I… I could be pregnant? I know some women experience nauseas when they are, but isn’t it early for me?”

“You’re an omega, maybe your body doesn’t react exactly like women’s.”

That’s what Athelstan didn’t want to hear, and now he can panic.

“What can we do? I can’t keep it! First we become soulmates, and now we may be having a child? We have to find a way to get rid of it!”

It hurts to speak of his maybe-future-child like that, but they are stuck in a dead-end. Ecbert is going to kill them both.

“Wait,” Ragnar says, reaching out for his hand. “It’s all new, let’s just take a few minutes to think about it.”

“We won’t be able to keep a secret like this! It’s too big.”

“It happened only a month after Ecbert left, it could work.”

“Really? Let’s say I tell him he is the father, how do you think you will react when you see him cradling the baby in his arms? Your baby?”

Here Ragnar winces, and perhaps he will come back to reason.

“If it means our child lives, I will get over it.”

So much for reason. What can they do? Whatever Athelstan can think about, it looks like they have no issue.

“I will tell him the truth,” Athelstan decides, and he presses his palm on Ragnar’s mouth before he can start arguing. “I can’t lie to Ecbert like this. Besides, he wants a child more than anything. No one except us will know the baby is yours.”

Ragnar takes his hand away, still keeping it in his.

“No one except Aethelwulf, Floki and Torstein. It is a lot of people to keep such a secret. Let’s take our time to think this through.”

He is right, but Athelstan has already made up his mind, for better or for worse.

“I trust Aethelwulf. And I suppose you trust Floki and Torstein. That will have to do.”

“You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

Ragnar does sound a little exasperated, but fond too. He kisses Athelstan’s palm and sinks to his knees in front of him, splaying his fingers on his stomach. In his panic, Athelstan forgot to think about the good sides. A child. Ragnar’s child. Athelstan has been waiting for years to be pregnant, and even though there is some happiness somewhere in him, he doesn’t know if he is ready.

“You’re afraid,” Ragnar whispers, looking up at him. “I can feel it.”

“Aren’t you? There are so many things that could go wrong.”

Ecbert comes back in three days. Perhaps the promise of a child won’t be enough compared to Athelstan’s betrayal. What if he decides to kill Ragnar? Athelstan wouldn’t survive it.

“Whatever happens, I will always protect you,” Ragnar says fiercely.

His fingers clutch on Athelstan’s stomach, and Athelstan can feel Ragnar’s determination deep in his heart. If only it were his own. Perhaps it is time he starts praying again.

***

It is even harder to stay away from Athelstan now that Ragnar knows about the child. Whether they lie to Ecbert or not, Ragnar isn’t so sure anymore he will manage to keep calm when they reunite. And they are supposed to reunite the day after tomorrow, it is way too soon.

Ragnar sighs and readjusts his head on Athelstan’s belly, trying to find a better position. They have been lying in the grass like this for a long time without talking, Athelstan sometimes playing with Ragnar’s hair.

“You know you can’t feel it move yet, don’t you?” Athelstan asks. Ragnar can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m trying to picture it.”

They haven’t really talked about the future baby. Ragnar feels like he can’t allow himself to be happy, and at times he doesn’t know if this is his own feeling or Athelstan’s. Maybe both.

“Would you rather have a girl or a boy?” Ragnar asks.

“I haven’t thought about it. I will love the baby either case.” Athelstan props himself up on his elbows to look at Ragnar. “Would you be disappointed if I gave you a daughter?”

The question shakes Ragnar and even if he doesn’t show it, Athelstan probably senses his sudden change of mood. Ragnar presses a kiss on his stomach and Athelstan shudders.

“First of all, I will never be disappointed whatever happens. You can’t be a source of disappointment to me. And I would love having a little girl.”

It makes him think about Gyda and a deep sadness feels him. Not as brutal as when he learnt of her death, but still painful. Not a day passes during which he doesn’t think about her.

“Are you okay?” Athelstan asks him.

“Yes. I had a daughter once. I was thinking that she would love holding a tiny baby between her arms.”

“Oh. What was her name?”

“Gyda. She was the first child I had with Lagertha. She died of the plague.”

“I’m sorry to bring up painful memories,” Athelstan replies after a long pause.

“Don’t be. I have many boys and if the gods grace me with a daughter, I will be the proudest father of all.”

Athelstan smiles and lies back onto the grass.

“Tell me we’ll find a way,” he says as he resumes stroking Ragnar’s hair.

“We will. And if we don’t, I will throw you over my shoulder and put you on my ship, then we will flee to my country.”

They both chuckle, but it is a possibility Ragnar has been considering more and more these days.

***

The night before Ecbert returns, Athelstan and Ragnar don’t part for a second. They go from long snuggling to sweet love-making, both of them much needed. No matter how exhausted they are, none of them is willing to sleeping. Athelstan wants to cry. It is as if their world were going to end tomorrow. It might be the case. As they lay in the middle of Ragnar’s bed, facing each other, Athelstan briefly considers lying to Ecbert, but he knows deep down he won’t be able to. Besides, he can’t live with the fear of Ecbert finding out the truth one day. He can’t live without Ragnar.

A single tear rolls on the bridge of his nose, and Ragnar wipes it with his thumb, repeating the movement several times until Athelstan lets out a shaky breath.

“We will find a way,” Ragnar says. “I will go with you when you tell him what happened.”

“You’re my soulmate, we shouldn’t have to find a way.”

Yet they have to. 

***

It is almost dark when Ecbert arrives at the castle, yet everyone is waiting for him in the yard. He spots Aethelwulf right away, and Athelstan standing beside him. The Northmen stand on the sides. Ecbert can’t see well with so little light, but it seems Ragnar Lothbrok is sending him what has become his usual dark look.

“Father!” Aethelwulf exclaims, approaching as Ecbert dismounts his horse. “I hope you travelled without mishap.”

“Everything went well.”

Ecbert is exhausted –from the journey and his time with Kwenthrith– yet it makes him feel better to see his son. He gives him a firm embrace and hands the reins of his horse to a servant. Then he walks up to Athelstan, who greets him with a tight smile. Ecbert ignores it for now and kisses him on his forehead.

“I missed you, little one,” Ecbert whispers.

Athelstan swallows and hesitates for a split second before giving him a small “Me too.”

Ecbert smiles and moves on, he has other people to greet too. They make it to the dining hall soon enough and Ecbert barely represses a whistle when he discovers the feast Aethelwulf organized. It is impressive, and it reminds him of how much he is starving.

Their feast is quite joyful, even if Athelstan doesn’t talk much. The Northmen ask about Lagertha and Ecbert is more than happy to tell them she is being really fine with Kwenthrith. He doesn’t say it, but he is convinced these two could conquer the world if they wanted to.

Being back home is nice but Ecbert has to fight against sleep, and he waits until appropriate to retire to his quarters. Athelstan isn’t far behind and Ecbert is glad to be able to hold him tonight. He brings Athelstan against his chest sleepily, burying his nose in his soft hair.

“I need to tell you something,” Athelstan says.

His voice might be trembling, or maybe Ecbert’s tired mind is making things up. He doesn’t want to talk now, he can’t.

“M’tired,” Ecbert mumbles. “Tomorrow, Athelstan.”

He feels Athelstan’s tiny sigh against him and sleep takes over.

***

Despite the rigours of the previous day, Ecbert wakes up just before dawn, an old habit he never got rid of. Athelstan is still folded between his arms, frowning in his sleep and Ecbert disentangles their limbs inch by inch. He has a long day ahead of him. Mercia is going to be at war, a perspective which didn’t seem to scare Kwenthrith when they brought it up, but it means a lot of planning for Ecbert.

Therefore, Ecbert’s day is divided between catching up on the matters handled by Aethlewulf while he was away –and his son did a good job, really– and talking with his councillors about the forces they can afford sending to Mercia when required.

Throughout the day, a servant informs Ecbert that Athelstan wishes to speak with him, but he spends the whole morning with his council and he doesn’t have time. Yet Athelstan still manages to catch him when Ecbert leaves the room.

“We have to talk,” Athelstan says, almost jumping on him. “It’s important.”

One councillor informed Ecber that they may have overestimated the number of men in their army, so whatever Athelstan has to say, it can wait. Ecbert sent a councillor away to fetch the latest records they have on their various resources, and he should be back any time now. However, Athelstan seems worried –and scared?– so Ecbert gives up.

“Fine,” he sighs. “What is it?”

Athelstan takes a deep breath and damn, his anxiousness is a bit contagious.

“Something happened. Promise me you won’t get angry.”

“What? Why would I get angry?”

“I…”

Athelstan pauses, twisting his fingers together. Ecbert motions him to go on, but as Athelstan opens his mouth again, the councillor comes back with the documents Ecbert requested, a frantic look on his face.

“We have a serious issue, Sire!” the old man exclaims.

That’s precisely what Ecbert didn’t want to hear. He apologizes to Athelstan and goes back into the room, already reading the scroll.

“No listen, I’m…”

“We’ll talk tonight, Athelstan,” Ecbert promises as he closes the door behind him.

***

God, Ecbert’s days were more distracting with Kwenthrith, that’s for sure. Even talking about a potential war was more relaxing than all this administrative mess.

He spent endless hours arguing and debating with his council, all that without finding a solution to their problem. They don’t have enough men to provide a substantial support to Kwenthrith and keep Wessex safe at the same time. Ecbert prefers looking at the bright side of things, so he focuses on the fact that the meeting is over, at least.

Yet five minutes of silence must be the only reprieve Ecbert is granted, for a servant comes in to announce a visitor.

“King Horik, Sire.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Sire.”

This is a surprise. King Horik speaks a bit of English, but not enough to sustain a thorough conversation. Moreover, Ecbert never dealt with him alone, since the Northman doesn’t seem too fond of him in particular, and Saxons in general.

“Let him come in.”

King Horik looks at him with as much disdain as usual, however an odd smile graces his lips as he sits in front of Ecbert. Which makes Ecbert wonders, what can make a man like Horik smile?

Ecbert wonders for a second if he should use normal greeting formalities, but Horik doesn’t strike him as the kind of man who cares about this. At least they have one thing in common.

“I saw a thing. Your husband and Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Ecbert isn’t sure he understands. None of them has the required skills to make this conversation crystal clear, and maybe Horik just misused the words. Yet he insists upon Ecbert’s lack of reaction.

“In the… river –in the river. I saw them.”

Now Ecbert is afraid he understands. Horik wouldn’t come to him if he had seen Athelstan and Ragnar fishing. The two Northmen –without being openly at odds– seem to often disagree. Perhaps Horik wants to get rid of his rival.

“Why would you tell me about this?” Ecbert asks, and it is hard to appear unaffected.

“You can’t trust Ragnar.”

That’s all Horik has to say, and he leaves upon this words, smile still in place. Ecbert remains frozen on his seat, unsure of what he can believe, before he realises he already believes Horik. It isn’t like he never suspected them. Anything could have happened while he was away, although Ecbert never truly believed Athelstan would dare doing such a thing. He also never thought it would sting so much.

Is it why Athelstan wanted to talk with him? Perhaps remorse became unbearable, but it doesn’t lessen the fault, not in Ecbert’s opinion. After long minutes of pondering, Ecbert swears under his breath and strides out of the room.

Considering it is well past noon, Athelstan is done with his damn lesson, and Ecbert may have an idea of where he is. Or where he is heading to. A quick glance in the yard from a window confirms his suspicion: Athelstan is waiting next to his horse, probably for the Northman. The king doesn’t waste a second and when he reaches the main gate of the castle, Ragnar Lothbrok has joined Athelstan with his own horse. They are busy setting up the length of their stirrups, so they don’t see him. Ecbert turns to the two soldiers guarding the entrance.

“Be ready to restrain the Northman,” he orders.

***

Athelstan knows something is wrong the moment Ecbert steps into the yard, crossing it with a dark look. He is pale and his calm is only betrayed by the way his jaw tenses. Athelstan swallows with difficulty, fingers tightening on the reins of his horse. Ecbert knows. That’s why he is here. Ragnar is turned away from them and he becomes aware of the king’s presence as the latter stops in front of Athelstan. He frowns, glancing at the two soldiers following Ecbert, and turns to come standing next to Athelstan. It makes him feel a little stronger.

“Is it true?” Ecbert asks between gritted teeth.

Athelstan knows what he is referring to, and he wants to slap himself for not insisting more to speak with him when he had the opportunity.

“Yes. Let me explain.”

But Ecbert’s hand shoots up, grabbing his hair, forcing him away from Ragnar and towards the stables. Athelstan drops the reins to pry Ecbert’s fingers away, but he is being dragged to the stables despite his struggle. Ragnar shouts his name behind him, and his anger mixed with his fear hit Athelstan full force. However, before Ragnar can jump on Ecbert, the soldiers grab his arms and push him backwards. Athelstan can see a third man coming to their help.

“Please,” he repeats, “Let me explain!”

Ecbert ignores him and pushes him in the stables, away from everyone’s view. The few people inside leave immediately. Athelstan hears Ragnar’s furious shouts, but his own fear blocks every other emotion.

“I tried to tell you!”

“Yes, and I was wondering how you wanted to justify you sluttish behaviour!”

Ecbert punctuates his words with a hard blow across Athelstan’s face, which sends him crashing into the thick wall. He whimpers at the same time Ragnar’s screams double in volume. Athelstan braces himself with one hand on the wall, the other clasping his lower stomach.

“Wait…”

“How did you dare?” Ecbert exclaims. “After begging me to stay here!”

Athelstan loses count of the number of blows he receives after that, and he doesn’t have time to utter a single word in his defence. He slumps to the floor and concentrates on protecting the most vulnerable part of his body. It doesn’t dull the pain, yet it helps. Until Ecbert stops hitting his face and shoulders, and sends a harsh kick to his stomach. Athelstan howls.

“I’m pregnant!” he screams, curling on himself. “I’m pregnant, don’t… don’t hit me there.”

The blows stop at last. Athelstan catches his breath, and he spits a little blood on the floor.

“Don’t hit me there, please… anywhere you want, but not there.”

That’s all he is asking for. He won’t fight back for himself, but he will do anything for the little thing growing inside him. Athelstan risks glancing at Ecbert. The king is frozen above him, and there is no more screaming coming from outside. Athelstan doesn’t dare moving, in part because of the pain and also because he fears Ecbert’s reaction.

“You can’t be…” the king whispers, staring at Athelstan’s stomach.

“I throw up every morning.”

Ecbert still doesn’t move, and it is unnerving. Athelstan doesn’t know what to say –pleading might very well anger him more. After few more seconds of staring, Ecbert walks out slowly.

“Let him go,” Athelstan hears him saying once he is outside.

His words are immediately followed by the sound of rushed footsteps scratching the paved ground. Perhaps Ecbert is tired and prefers sending his soldiers to deal with Athelstan. He closes his eyes, bringing his legs to his chest.

There are hands on him, slow and unsure, nothing like the fists he expected.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Athelstan does, with difficulty. Ragnar is crouching above him, face all bruised up. Judging from the look on his face, Athelstan must be in a similar state. He forces a weak smile on his face, propping himself up on one elbow to shift closer to the Northman. Right now, he just wants to feel him close. It may be the last time they can touch each other. Ragnar gets the hint and sits to scoop Athelstan’s upper body on his lap.

“I didn’t protect you,” Ragnar growls, maybe more to himself than to Athelstan. “I swore I would be with you, and I couldn’t do anything when you needed me.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Nonsense.” Ragnar takes deep breaths before adding, “We shouldn’t leave you on the floor like this.”

Ragnar carries Athelstan to his bedroom and stays there with him. They take care of their mutual bruises, even if Ragnar tries to bat Athelstan’s hands away, arguing that he must rest.

“Shut up,” Athelstan orders.

To his surprise, Ragnar complies. He lets Athelstan clean his bruises, and it feels weird to still be together now. When Athelstan woke up this morning, resolute to confess the truth, he thought the punishment would be much worse. They could be dead or forced away from each other, so Athelstan can handle a few blows. He doesn’t voice his opinion though, since Ragnar and him won’t agree on this point.

“Do you think the baby is fine?” Ragnar asks as Athelstan lies back.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

Ragnar sits next to him on the edge of the bed, and Athelstan can feel his anxiousness return. He would do anything to make it disappear, so he takes Ragnar’s hand and presses it on his stomach.

“One day, you will put your hand there and you will feel our baby moving under your palm,” Athelstan says softly.

Ragnar stares at their joined hands, hope and worry obvious in his eyes.

“Do you believe it?” the Northman inquires.

“Yes. Ecbert doesn’t want to kill it, he would have already done so.”

They are still like this, hands on Athelstan’s stomach, when Ecbert comes in. Ragnar snarls and moves to get up, but Athelstan grabs his sleeve with all his strength to keep him there.

“Don’t do this,” he whispers.

“You are in no position to be angry with me, Ragnar Lothbrok,” Ecbert declares. “I’m here to talk with Athelstan, you can wait outside if it makes you feel better, but I don’t want you in this room.”

Ragnar isn’t going to move, Athelstan knows it. The situation will only worsen and perhaps that’s precisely what Ecbert is waiting for. Athelstan won’t give him this pleasure.

“I will be fine,” Athelstan assures him. “Please, it won’t take long.”

“I–”

“You have to leave,” Athelstan interrupts.

Ragnar doesn’t leave, he storms out of the room, yet Athelstan can still sense his presence so he must be right behind the door. He turns his attention back to Ecbert, now looming over him with his arms crossed. Athelstan forces himself to hide his fear, even though it is quite useless.

“Time to speak,” the king hisses.


	11. Chapter 11

Athelstan doesn’t know where to start, or how to say what he has to say without sounding reproachful. He has reproaches to voice, but it might not be the best time to do so. Yet he has to speak up, Ecbert goes a bit tenser with every passing second.

“My heat happened earlier than I expected it. You weren’t here, Ragnar was.”

“Ah, the fine excuse of your heat!” Ecbert shouts, throwing his arms in the air. “None of it was your fault, then?”

Athelstan straightens up on the bed, folding his legs in front of his chest to feel less vulnerable. After all, Ecbert deserves the truth, even if he might dislike it. Athelstan also prepares himself to spring off the bed if needed.

“You’re right, I’m faulty in all this. So are you. I wanted to have sex with Ragnar long before my heat –we almost did once.” Athelstan studies Ecbert’s face to spot any sign of impending violence, however the king seems too taken aback by his honesty to react, for now. “It was wrong to cheat on you and to break the vows of our marriage. But it didn't seem to be a problem when you cheated on me with Kwenthrith.”

Maybe that was too much.

“If I recall, I already told you we are not in the same place, Athelstan,” Ecbert hisses, walking slowly to the bed, and Athelstan struggles not to shrink on himself. “You were the one asking me to stay here. You accused me of betrayal the first night I spent with the princess and today, you admit you did the same, if not worse, with the Northman? Are you kidding?”

Ecbert stands too close to him. The scene of the stables is still very present in Athelstan’s mind and he scoots back on the bed.

“I would have never done anything if you had treated me differently,” Athelstan retorts, forcing himself to look Ecbert in the eye without wavering.

The king breaks into a humourless laugh and lunges forward, grabbing Athelstan’s jaw before he has time to react. Athelstan is ready to beg him to go away.

“I treat you the way I want, Athelstan. Why can’t you understand that? You’re an omega, you’re worth nothing except for the children you can give, every alpha would treat you the way I do.”

“No.”

“Yes. What do you think would happen with your heathen? He is being all nice to win you over, bring you back home with him and put you aside along with his wife. Then when he is tired of fucking her, he will go to you, so that you can give him child after child. That’s all you’re valuable for.”

“No,” Athelstan objects with a little more force. He thought about this long ago, when he didn’t know Ragnar at all, yet he can’t believe Ragnar sees him this way. “He isn’t like that. He isn’t like you.”

“Oh, you fell in love, Athelstan. It’s going to be more painful then. Everything is more painful when you’re in love. You see, that is what real betrayal is. I may have slept with Kwenthrith, but I never fell in love with her. I never gave her my heart.”

“You never fell in love with me either,” Athelstan bites back. “You loved what I could give you, you never loved me.”

Ecbert laughs for real this time, giving him a little slap on the cheek. It isn’t strong but his face is sore from earlier, and Athelstan winces. A rush of anger belonging to Ragnar courses through him a split second later, and Athelstan wonders if the Northman can feel his pain. Athelstan didn’t feel Ragnar’s when the soldiers hit him, but maybe the pain of Ecbert’s beating concealed it.

Anyway, Athelstan is tired and his head starts hurting –all he wants is to sleep and have a little reprieve. 

“Do you really believe Ragnar loves you back?” Ecbert asks.

If everything must be said today…

“He is my soulmate,” Athelstan declares. His heart swells with unexpected pride.

It is like all the air leaves Ecbert’s lungs at once. He steps back, releasing Athelstan’s jaw. Now he knows everything, he can do whatever he wants.

“Your soulmate,” the king whispers. “This heathen is your soulmate.”

Ecbert looked at him with contempt before, but never so much. It doesn’t matter anymore. Ecbert paces in the room, as if he had forgotten about Athelstan. At last he stops in front of the bed again, his forefinger pointed at Athelstan’s stomach.

“This child growing inside of you is the only thing keeping you alive. Never forget that.”

Athelstan should be afraid, yet he is only relieved. His child will live and he will live too, so there is still some hope.

“No one will hear about all this,” Ecbert adds. “I will raise the child as my own –he isn’t responsible of what you did. To everyone’s eyes, this child will be mine.”

It is a logical reaction, Athelstan shouldn’t be surprised: Ecbert has a new heir, even if Athelstan suspects he will make sure the child never inherits the throne. Which is an issue Athelstan doesn’t care about. No, a more immediate issue is troubling him.

“What about Ragnar?”

“He is still my ally, that’s all you need to know.”

Athelstan’s mouth falls open. He thought the Northmen and the Saxons would start fighting each other again, or that Ecbert would chase them away of his lands. He isn’t the kind of man who forgives such an insult so quickly, so Athelstan comes to the only possible conclusion: Ecbert is preparing something.

***

Ragnar is still waiting in the hallway when Ecbert comes out of the bedroom. From what he can sense, Athelstan seems to be fine, yet Ragnar would rather check himself.

“We need to speak, ally,” Ecbert tells him with a glare.

Ragnar casts one last longing look at the door, but Ecbert is already leaving so he is forced to follow him. They go to the room they used on the day they first met. Ecbert takes a seat and even if he doesn’t invite Ragnar to do so, the Northman does the same.

“What are you going to do with Athelstan?” Ragnar asks.

If he were true to his responsibilities and to his people, Ragnar would ask about their deal. It is the most important for all of them, and their well-being should come first.

“Ah, this is an interesting question. Really, what should I do to an unfaithful omega? Get rid of him, if I were a wise man. But don’t worry, he will stay here, safe. I will make sure no harm happens to him or to his unborn child.”

Ragnar’s heart clenches at the mention of their child. He can’t guarantee he won’t kill Ecbert if he forbids him to ever see the baby.

“Said child will be considered as mine,” Ecbert adds. “I swear I will treat him or her as if I were the father. As for our deal, it is still valid, so you can stay here and help us regarding Mercia. In which case, you will be able to see Athelstan and your child when I decide it. Otherwise, you are free to leave and go back to your wife, who I’m sure is already missing you.”

Ragnar’s choice is made. He left Rollo in charge of Kattegat, everything should be fine. Aslaug doesn’t need Ragnar as much as Athelstan for now.

“I am staying.”

“Excellent! Now, listen: your lessons with Athelstan are maintained. We have to keep up some appearances. It is the only time you will be allowed to be together, with a soldier in the room to keep an eye on you. I won’t be fooled twice. Of course, touching is forbidden. Even if you barely touch Athelstan’s hand, I will order my men to beat him in front of you. They won’t touch his stomach, but it will hurt.”

Ragnar grinds his teeth together. If only he could stick his dagger into the man’s heart.

“Don’t look at me this way, Ragnar Lothbrok. I believe you tend to forget you’re the one who fucked my husband. I could have you killed here and then, no one would be able to deny me this right.”

“We are soulmate,” Ragnar objects. “In my country, you can’t forbid your husband or wife to leave if they find their soulmate.”

“You aren’t in your country. Here I am king, I decide if omegas can leave with their soulmates or not. And I decide they don’t when they happen to be married to me in the first place.”

“This is against the will of our gods,” Ragnar snarls.

“Yes, your gods. Try to fight me on this and you will regret it.”

If Ecbert thinks Ragnar is going to wait for him to take away his child and to witness him hurting Athelstan, then he is sorely mistaken.

***

Seeing Athelstan day after day without being able to hold him close is a torture. Ragnar tries not to dwell too much on it, otherwise he goes into a dark mood, and he doesn’t want Athelstan to feel it.

Days turn into weeks, which turn into months, and Athelstan’s pregnancy is starting to show. Around four months, the swelling of his stomach is more than visible, even through the robes. Ragnar can only think about kissing it, stroking it with his hands. He says so to Athelstan one day, as their conversations in Norse are the only element of their relationship Ecbert can’t control. Ragnar often interrupts their serious conversations to slip in what he hopes are comforting words, or to promise he will find a way for them to escape. He thought many times about fleeing in the middle of the night, but their long travel by boat wouldn’t be safe considering Athelstan’s state. Besides, Ragnar wants to find out how Ecbert heard about them. Aethelwulf isn’t responsible for it –from what Ragnar can see, he puts a lot of energy into improving Athelstan’s days. Whenever the Northmen share a feast with the Saxons, Aethelwulf often glances sadly between Ragnar and Athelstan. Ragnar can’t believe he is the one who told Ecbert. In fact, he might have a suspect in the person of King Horik, but Floki has been unable to confirm it. Either Horik doesn’t trust him enough to confide such things –for now– either he is innocent. A sentence containing both ‘Horik’ and ‘innocent’ always makes Ragnar laugh.

Their situation evolves around Athelstan’s sixth month, but not the way Ragnar wanted it to. He is preparing his horse for a ride –with Torstein, since he is the only one able to lighten Ragnar’s mood these days– when a servant comes into the stables, looking all shy and cowed. It is true he hasn’t been a charming person with the Saxons during the last months.

“King Ecbert requires seeing you, Sire,” the girl says.

Ragnar snorts at the title. He will have to tell Lagertha about it when he sees her again, she would have a good laugh at this.

“Tell your king I will come after my ride.”

The girls shifts from one foot to another, twisting her fingers together. She reminds him too much of Athelstan in his worst moments with Ecbert, and Ragnar wants her gone as soon as possible, so he gives her a pointed look to punctuate his words.

“The king also says that if you remember your deal, you will obey now.”

Obey. Of course he will obey this asshole, if Athelstan’s safety is at stake. Ragnar starts unsaddling his horse, his face darkening when he realises the girl is still waiting for him.

“You can leave,” he barks. “I will obey your king.”

The girl’s shaky nod makes him regret his harsh tone, but even if she has nothing to do with all this mess, Ragnar can’t manage to be patient or considerate right now. She will see worse than this anyway.

Ragnar takes a minute or two to calm himself, then heads to the room Ecbert usually works in at this time of the day. Ragnar doesn’t knock before coming in. The Saxons may be fond of it, but he isn’t in the mood. Ecbert gives him a polite smile –which his more his version of a smirk– while Ragnar takes a sit in front of him. They stare at each other for a few seconds, until Ragnar arches his eyebrows. He certainly isn’t the one going to speak up first.

“Fine,” Ecbert sighs, “if you want to be childish. I have an offer for you. I promised Princess Kwenthrith I would lend her some men to win the throne of Mercia. I will send my men but their strength would be much more substantial with the Northmen’s support.”

“What are you suggesting?” Ragnar asks. He already has an idea, and he hates where this conversation is heading.

“That you and your men join my son and the men I’m sending when they leave for Mercia, within three days.”

Ragnar knows it is better to have as much men as possible when you start a war, but the Northmen aren’t so many. Their number isn’t going to throw off Mercia’s enemies, however Ragnar can understand why Ecbert wants him out of the picture.

“It’s Athelstan’s sixth month. We don’t know how long this war is going to last,” Ragnar replies.

“You have nothing to worry about, I will be there for him.”

“Sure.”

Ecbert sighs again, crossing his hands in front of him.

“Considering you seem to think you have a choice here, let me make this clear: you don’t. If you want to see Athelstan again, or to hold your child, you will go to Mercia.”

“We both know I might never come back,” Ragnar snarls, leaning closer to Ecbert.

“War is war. Did you really think I would let you get away with what you did with a few punches?”

Ragnar may be furious, yet he has to admit that had their positions been reversed, he would have killed Ecbert without a second thought.

“We’re soulmates,” he growls nonetheless.

“I’m aware. It doesn’t change anything. But I’m not done: I will let you go with Athlestan if you come back from Mercia. It is true I can’t keep soulmates apart and I would have never done so if you hadn’t betrayed me. Therefore, fight for me in Mercia and Athelstan is free to go.”

That's quite a sudden change, compared to Ecbert's plan of raising the child as his own. Ragnar wouldn’t be able to describe what he is feeling, yet amongst all this despair there is some unmistakable joy.

“Will I be allowed to say goodbye to him?”

“Even better. You two will have a moment in private so that you can explain him where you’re going. However, I forbid you to say anything about his potential freedom. Wouldn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

And this way, Ragnar will see Athelstan completely crumple.

“You’d better pray your God I never come back,” he threatens as he gets up.

“Rest assured I will also pray yours,” Ecbert answers with a confident smile, which makes Ragnar want to kill him very slowly.

Instead, he strides out of the room to go to the camp, since he has to prepare his men. Ragnar hasn’t even made it to the stables when someone calls him.

“Ragnar Lothbrok!”

Ragnar must look quite murderous when he turns back, because Aethelwulf immediately raises his hands in front of him. What is it now?

“We need to speak,” Aethelwulf says as he nods to the stables.

As often, there isn’t a lot of people inside and they head out as soon as they notice Ragnar and the prince.

“I know my father is sending you away,” Aethelwulf says.

“So, are you here to rub it in my face? Tell me I had it coming?”

“Well, I could remind you I advised you to be discreet, but that would be rude and unhelpful. I have a suggestion.”

“Did you manage to change your father’s mind?” Ragnar snorts.

“I don’t have such power. I’m here for Athelstan. He is going to miss you and he is going to suffer a lot, and I want to lessen his pain.”

“If you have found a way to do so, I’m all ears.”

Ragnar doesn’t know what to expect, an uncertainty increased by the fact Aethelwulf’s steady gaze wavers for the first time.

“I noticed Athelstan befriended one of your men. Torstein, I think. I am aware he is a valuable warrior and that he would be useful to you in Mercia, but can’t he stay with Athelstan? I’m also leaving for Mercia and Athelstan needs a friend here.”

“As you said, Torstein is a warrior, this is not my decision to make. I can’t order people around like your father does.”

Aethelwulf’s hand shots up and he grabs Ragnar’s arm, shaking him a bit.

“Of course you can! We’re talking about your soulmate and your unborn child! Do you really want to leave them unprotected? Can you picture Athelstan alone all day long, wondering if you’ll ever come back? Because I can, and it’s not pretty. Listen, my father ordered that you are to fight with the first lines. To be honest, I’m not sure you will come back. So I want someone to distract Athelstan, reassure him.”

“You underestimate him, Prince. He isn’t a child.”

“No, but if he feels you dying, he will let himself die too. I heard enough about soulmates to know his pain will be devastating.”

Maybe Aethelwulf is right. Ragnar doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like if he had to feel Athelstan die.

“I will talk to Torstein.”

***

It has been a long day for Athelstan, and he only managed to find a relative peace while copying his scrolls. Pregnancy tires him, along with Ragnar’s fluctuating mood. Not that Athelstan resents him for this, but he couldn’t help being stressed when he felt Ragnar’s rage and sadness burning inside of him sometimes in the afternoon. Feeling it isn’t the issue, however not knowing what caused this sudden change of mood is another story. Athelstan startled so hard when it happened that he almost broke his quill, and had to throw away the page he was working on.

Athelstan startles again when he realises he isn’t alone in the room. Immersed as he was while reading a scroll, one hand lying on his belly –somehow it appeases him– he hadn’t noticed any noise. And now Ragnar is standing there, so close to him. Athelstan can’t decide if he should cry or be relieved. They stare at each other for a second, then Athelstan gets up as fast as his state allows and grabs Ragnar’s shoulder, getting enough leverage to crush their lips together.

“Why are you here?” Athelstan asks between two kisses.

Ragnar doesn’t answer right away, he puts his hands on Athelstan’s hips, pressing him closer. They rest their foreheads together to simply enjoy each other’s touch –a pleasure denied for far too long. A little gasp escapes Ragnar as Athelstan guides his large hand on his stomach.

“I wish you could be holding me at night,” Athelstan whispers. “I miss you.”

He looks up to find Ragnar is already staring at him with a pained expression.

“What is it?”

“I’m here because… I…”

Ragnar’s eyes are shiny, even if he doesn’t cry, but Athelstan doesn’t need to see any tear to know what is going to follow will wrench his heart.

“No!” he exclaims, taking a step back.

He doesn’t want to hear it, whatever Ragnar has to say. He’s had enough.

“I have to leave,” Ragnar says nonetheless.

“No!” Athelstan shouts as he stammers back. “You can’t go! You can’t leave me here!”

“Ecbert ordered it. I’m going to Mercia.”

Athelstan knows that Ragnar tries to keep his composure, even if his voice starts wavering, but Athelstan can’t keep his. He stumbles until the back of his thighs hit the bed, and he falls on the mattress.

“Don’t leave,” he begs, painfully aware it is useless. “If you go to war…”

Athelstan might never see him again. He shakes, clasping his hands on his stomach. Ragnar rushes to the bed and gathers him in his arms.

“We’ll still be linked,” the Northman assures. “You’ll feel me all the time, as well as my love for you. I’ve been to battle before, and the Saxons won’t send me to Valhalla, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

His tone is biting and Ragnar doesn’t deserve it, but Athelstan doesn’t want to start hoping just to feel Ragnar die on the battlefield a week later.

“I will come back,” Ragnar insists. “Aethelwulf is going to keep an eye on me.”

“Idiot,” Athelstan grunts, sagging on Ragnar when the Northman presses his body against his side.

“Listen,” Ragnar whispers before pressing a kiss in his hair, “Aethelwulf and I have a deal: he keeps an eye on me, and Torstein keeps an eye on you. Everyone will be safe.”

Knowing Torstein will stay here provides Athelstan a little relief. Nestled against Ragnar’s chest, he can’t help pretending –only for a few minutes– that everything is going to be fine.


	12. Chapter 12

Ragnar doesn’t stay for long with Athelstan and as soon as Athelstan assumes the Northman is far enough, he leaves his bedroom, heading for the room Ecbert should be in. Indeed, he hears voices coming from inside when he reaches it. Athelstan barges in, not giving a second thought to politeness. He is quite satisfied when the two councillors talking with Ecbert turn towards him with round eyes.

“Athelstan,” Ecbert sighs. “To what do we owe the pleasure of–”

“Tell them to leave.”

An outraged gasp escapes one councillor. Athelstan doesn’t know which one, he is too busy staring at Ecbert, trying to conceal his shaking. It comes from both despair and anger, but he doesn’t want Ecbert to believe he is shaking with fear. He won’t give him this pleasure.

Ecbert ponders on his words for a few seconds before leaning back into his chair.

“Very well. We will pursue with this meeting later.”

The councillors get up in unison, glaring at Athelstan as they walk out. They are among the men who always hated bowing to an omega, even if said omega is married to their king. Today it is even more obvious. But as much as they despise him, they still have to get out their way to go past Athelstan, since he is standing right in the middle of the entrance. Athelstan certainly isn’t going to step aside to make them feel better.

“So?” Ecbert asks. “What is this about?”

Athelstan grits his teeth as he closes the door behind him, blocking the angry muttering of the two councillors walking away.

“Don’t send Ragnar away.”

Ecbert looks genuinely surprised, going still in his chair. Athelstan comes closer, until he is standing in front of Ecbert, who has to turn in his chair to face him. It may be one of the rare moments Athelstan can stare him down. He forces himself to keep a neutral expression when the king eyes him up from head to toe.

“I have to acknowledge you’re one of the few people I know who are able to beg proudly,” Ebcert declares. “I will grant you that.”

“You want to punish me, fine. You don’t have to send Ragnar to his death.”

“Oh yes, I do. The offence is worth it.”

“What do you want?” Athelstan asks, stepping forward until their knees bump together. “What do you want from me?”

Ecbert hesitates for a split second before putting his palm on Athelstan’s stomach. The urge to recoil is strong, yet Athelstan doesn’t move an inch. He can do this. For Ragnar.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re offering,” Ecbert replies, his hand sliding under Athelstan’s swollen stomach, going to a more intimate place.

“You know what I am offering.”

Maintaining eye contact is hard but Athelstan won’t back down on that either. His eyes follow Ecbert’s as the king stands up, towering above him. Ecbert presses his free hand over Athelstan’s racing heart, inching it upward to cover the light swelling around his nipple. This happened a few days ago. It isn’t big, not even close to the size of a woman’s breast, yet the slightest pressure causes both soreness and pleasure. Athelstan blinks as Ecbert tightens his fingers, just once.

“Say it,” Ecbert orders, dragging the fabric over the sensitive nipple.

“Take me. Have me the way you used to before all of this happened.”

Ecbert moves his lower hand to clutch the back of one thigh, right under his ass. He uses it to push Athelstan against his chest without warning, pulling him on tiptoes. Athelstan only maintains his balance by gripping Ecbert’s upper arms, however he hasn’t looked away. He can do this. Ecbert bends forward, his lips ghosting along Athelstan’s jaw, up to his ear. Athelstan’s heart stutters. If Ecbert agrees to this, it has to mean he will keep Ragnar here.

“No,” the king whispers, giving his nipple a painful squeeze.

He releases Athelstan, flopping back onto his chair, turning his attention to his scrolls.

“No?” Athelstan echoes. “Why no?”

“Because, my dear, according to our laws, if I slept with Ragnar’s soulmate, I wouldn’t be the offended one anymore, becoming instead the offender. Even if I was cheated on in the first place. Looks like I don’t have the right to fuck you, therefore you can’t save your precious soulmate. Maybe once he dies, we could…”

As much as Athelstan wants it to be a lie, it isn’t. You can’t have sex with someone who already has a soul bond. It is one of the greatest offences possible.

“You only care for the laws when they suit you,” Athelstan retorts.

“You know that’s not true. Was that all you wanted to say?”

‘Fuck you’ is one of the things Athelstan wants to say, but it would only make Ecbert laugh.

“There is something else. Why is Horik staying in Wessex? His men could be useful to Kwenthrith.”

“I will find some use for them here. Horik might be a more faithful ally than Ragnar after all.”

Since when? Ecbert never liked Horik, never trusted him. Why the sudden change?

“You can’t seriously believe that,” Athelstan says.

Ecbert gives him a strange look, more scrutinizing than contemptuous, unlike what Athelstan expected.

“I won’t discuss my political choices with you,” Ecbert eventually replies.

It is because Athelstan knows him quite well that he notices the stiffening of his shoulders when Ecbert bends over his scrolls, refusing to look at him.

“I doubt your choices are only political.”

Athelstan leaves before Ecbert can reply. He doesn’t need to hear his answer.

***

The night preceding Ragnar’s departure might be the worst Athelstan ever experienced. He cries himself to sleep and only manages to rest for about two hours. At least he is alone –Ecbert hasn’t spent one night with him since he discovered the truth. Even with the laws, he could still decide to impose his presence. Maybe Athelstan disgusts him too much for that.

When morning finally comes, Athelstan springs out of bed. Ragnar and Aethelwulf must already be preparing their horses, since they said they would leave early. It might be the last time Athelstan sees them, so he isn’t going to miss the opportunity to say goodbye.

Athelstan was right: when he reaches the yard, almost all the castle is there, along with Ecbert. That’s not how Athelstan pictured his goodbyes with Ragnar. He places himself several steps behind Ecbert, not even acknowledging him. All they can manage these days is to trade murderous stares and if it suits them in private, it wouldn’t be appropriate in front of their people. Anyway, no one is paying attention to them right now.

Aethelwulf hands the reins of his horse at one of his soldiers and approaches to give his father a firm embrace. They exchange a few words, which Athelstan can’t catch, before parting. Then Aethelwulf goes to Athelstan, and this time is embrace is more affectionate than firm.

“This is from me, and also from Ragnar,” he whispers into Athelstan’s ear, tightening his arms as he mentions the Northman’s name. “Stay safe, Athelstan.”

Athelstan only nods –he’s going to cry if he opens his mouth. As Aethelwulf walks away and mounts on his horse, Athelstan’s eyes fly towards Ragnar, who is staring at him with a grim expression. Anyone could think he is angry, but Athelstan knows there is only sadness, as well as a desire of revenge. If revenge can keep Ragnar alive, Athelstan doesn’t mind. But he prays it won’t make him lose his focus.  
Ragnar turns to Torstein and they nod at each other, after what Torstein steps aside to join the crowd. He shouldn’t have to stay away from the battlefield, yet Athelstan is glad Torstein stays here, even if it is selfish.

Ragnar looks at Athelstan one last time before turning towards the road ahead of him. He and Aethelwulf push their horses into a trot and within seconds they are out of view, hidden by the men –Saxons and Northmen alike– following them. Athelstan breathes out shakily and heads back inside. Soon he hears the clattering sound of rushed footsteps hitting the floor. Athelstan steels himself to face whoever it is, but he relaxes when he realises it is Torstein.

“Are you going back to your room?” Torstein asks.

“Yes. You can come if you want.”

Athelstan tries to hide it, but he desperately wants Torstein to say yes. Otherwise he will be alone and crying all over his scrolls.

“Good, I just need to go to Ragnar’s room first.”

Torstein squeezes Athelstan’s arm and jogs ahead, disappearing at the end of the corridor. Athelstan had no idea he knew where Ragnar’s room is, but Ecbert might have allowed him to stay in it, so it would be logical. Athelstan keeps one hand on his stomach during the whole way back to his room. The baby is particularly restless today. Maybe she –Athelstan likes to believe it is a girl– can feel her father is going far away, just like Athelstan can feel it.

Torstein catches up with him as he opens the door of his bedroom. The Northman is a little breathless and carries a large bag swung over his shoulders.

“It’s for you,” he explains with a smile when Athelstan’s eyes widen.

Once inside the room, they both sit on the bed with the bag between them. Usually Athelstan wouldn’t invite anyone on his bed apart from Ragnar and Aethelwulf, yet with Torstein it feels natural. He doesn’t even have second thoughts about it. And well, Torstein piqued his curiosity, which keeps him away from self-pity, so it is fine.

“Ragnar left these for you,” Torstein says as he opens the bag.

He takes a thick fur out of it that Athelstan recognizes immediately: it is the fur on which they kissed for the first time. Athelstan grabs it and brings it against his chest. If he looks crazy, Torstein doesn’t pay any attention to it.

“Ragnar said it will keep you warm at night until he comes back.”

“Thank you,” Athelstan whispers, not really knowing if he is thanking Ragnar or Torstein, or both.

Crinkles appear near Torstein’s eyes as he grins, plunging his hand into the bag again. He takes a small dagger out of it and hands it to Athelstan.

“This is in case someone wants to harm you, although I’m here to prevent that. Ragnar also said I can teach you some tricks on how to use it, whenever you want to.”

If Athelstan is sure it won’t be a danger for his baby, he won’t hesitate. Ragnar didn’t have the opportunity to keep teaching him but Athelstan is eager to know more.  
Torstein plunges his hand in the bag again and fishes out what seems to be a little figure. He gives it to Athelstan, and after getting a closer look, Athelstan can confirm it is a sculpted horse, mounted by what could be a Northman –Athelstan’s guess being founded on the clothes looking like Ragnar’s and the axe.

“Ragnar meekly pictured himself,” Torstein explains him, grinning, as he watches Athelstan turn the sculpture between his hands.

“Oh… why does he have such a long beard?”

The beard is quite impressive, reaching the middle of the horseman’s stomach. He doesn’t understand why Ragnar would picture himself this way.

“He said this is how he will be when he gets very old and stops fighting to stay by your side,” Torstein replies. “Although I believe he would have already done so if he had been able to.”

“I would be glad to witness it,” Athelstan confesses.

It hurts to think about the possibility of growing old with Ragnar while knowing it will probably never happen. Athelstan sighs, hugging the fur tighter, sculpture still in hand.

“These are mere items,” Torstein says, “but I hope they will provide you some comfort.”

Athelstan winces when he notices the Northman looks a little sad himself.

“They do. They really do, more than you think. As your presence here does. I know it is unfair for you to be stuck far from your fellow warriors, yet I… well, thank you.”

“First, you should know I am not ‘stuck’ here,” Torstein says with a fond smile. “There will be other battles for my brothers and me. Besides, I am honoured to be the one Ragnar chose to stay with his soulmate. Even if I don’t always understand why you’re his soulmate, you’re much more pleasant than he will ever be, after all.”

It has the merit to make Athelstan chuckle.

“I will try not to repeat that,” Athelstan says.

It would be nice though, having Ragnar back with him and being able to tease him.

“Oh, you could. It more or less escaped me a few times already, and I think Ragnar would take it better if it came from you.”

Athelstan smiles, yet it turns into a wince after a vicious kick from the baby.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. The baby is wild today, nothing more.”

“Wild as his parents are, then. It is going to be a strong child, like you and Ragnar,” Torstein declares, very solemn.

Athelstan does hope the child will have Ragnar’s strength, because it will certainly prove useful one day, in particular if Ragnar never comes back.

***

Athelstan didn’t lie when he said Kwenthrith is a wealthy princess. This is the first thought crossing Ragnar’s mind when he arrives at her castle after an exhausting journey. Emotionally exhausting, more than physically, as if every new mile between him and Athelstan were a little harder to bear. The only reason Ragnar doesn’t turn back –apart from Ecbert’s threats– is that he feels little peaks of amusement (it isn’t happiness yet) which can only be Athelstan’s. Torstein must be with him, since he is the only person around whom Athelstan will allow himself to relax.

Kwenthrith’s welcoming isn’t like Ragnar expected it. She is here to greet them –Aethelwulf is a prince after all– but she doesn’t have all of her court gathered in front of the castle, unlike Ecbert. Only a few people, which is quite refreshing. As they get closer, Ragnar can make out the person standing right next to Kwenthrith and he can’t stiffen a little gasp.

“Is it your wife?” Aethelwulf asks, glancing at him.

“Former wife.”

The two women are standing close, very close. Either Lagertha did something awesome on the battlefield –which is more than probable– either… Ragnar missed a part of the story. He doesn’t believe one can gain the privilege to stand equal to Kwenthrith so fast.

“I would give a lot to spend one night between them,” Aethelwulf mutters. “Or under.”

Ragnar widens his eyes so much it hurts a bit. They may have gotten to know each other better during their journey, but still.

“She was my wife,” he reminds Aethelwulf, who merely shrugs in return.

“Yeah, as you said, ‘she was’. The choice would be up to her.”

Aethelwulf gives Ragnar a shit-eating grin, taunting him to go on. In vain, since they will be within earshot soon. In addition, Ragnar doesn’t have the right to say anything, after what he did to Lagertha with Aslaug. Lagertha would cut his tongue out of his mouth if he uttered a word regarding her personal life. And there’s Athelstan too. Ragnar shouldn’t waste time being jealous of a possible relation between Aethelwulf and Lagertha now that Athelstan is by his side. Metaphorically by his side. It is awful, and Ragnar doesn’t even really care about what Lagertha does after all.

“You’re right, Lagertha will choose. I doubt you have a chance though,” Ragnar declares nonetheless, aware it isn’t going to unsettle Aethelwulf. It still pleases him to say it.

“At last you’re here!” Kwenthrith exclaims, walking to them before any servant can make a move. “I started to fear you had forgotten about me.”

“Oh, you are quite unforgettable, Princess,” Aethelwulf assures her as he dismounts his horse, wincing when his feet hit the ground.

Ragnar turns his attention to Lagertha, leaving Aethelwulf and Kwenthrith to their civilities. Ragnar needs a familiar face. He needs to talk. Lagertha may not be his wife anymore, but she is dear to him, she will always be. Sometimes, Ragnar hopes she feels the same way about him.

Lagertha greets him with her famous smirk, yet her gaze his warm. She is splendid, even more than before her departure for Mercia.

“Ragnar. I must confess I didn’t believe Kwenthrith when she said you were coming to help. You seemed so infatuated with Athelstan, I thought you would stay with him.”

Oh, there is so much she doesn’t know. Ragnar isn’t willing to reveal what happened in public, so it will have to wait.

***

“Can you repeat that?” Lagertha exclaims.

Ragnar opens his mouth to comply, but she beats him to it.

“Actually, don’t. The Gods may hear you and realise how stupid you were. Given the situation, I don’t want to see what would happen if they stopped smiling on you.”

“I believe they are laughing at me right now,” Ragnar mutters. “Given the situation,” he adds with a dark look.

“Don’t lose your time with sarcasm. You brought it on yourself.”

Ragnar knew there would be a scolding, but that’s unfair.

“We’re soulmates. It was bound to happen, one way or another. I believe all our travels were planned by the Gods, to lead me to Athelstan.”

“And not to help your people?”

“Maybe both. They have their way.”

“Just like you.”

Lagertha bends forward on her seat, biting her fingernails. A long time ago, Ragnar would have smoothed away the worried crease on her forehead with a gentle stroke. Today it might not be welcome anymore.

“What are you going to do?” Lagertha asks. “When we leave England?”

In Ragnar’s case, it should rather be ‘if I leave England’, but if he tells Lagertha Ecbert wants him at the front line, she is going to have another streak of fury.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Are you going to bring Athelstan with us? Is Aslaug going to be fine with it?”

“Ecbert agreed to let him go if I come back alive. If Athelstan is fine with it, I will bring him home with me. Maybe I’ll murder Ecbert on the way,” he adds sternly.

“Athelstan wouldn’t appreciate that," Lagertha laughs. "You should avoid it if you want to start your mutual life on solid ground.”

Ragnar’s heart does funny little things at the idea of a life shared with Athelstan.

“What about your mutual life with Kwenthrith?”

Lagertha blushes, which is exceptional. Ragnar may have seen her blushing three times in his life, no more.

“I guess you’re having a good time,” he says.

“You could say that.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, each lost in their reveries.

“Ah, these Saxons…” Ragnar sighs. They are going to be the death of them. Maybe literally, in Ragnar’s case. “Who are we going to fight, by the way? Ecbert didn’t deem necessary to keep me informed.”

“One of Kwenthrith’s cousins I think. I’m not sure, her translation was vague. From what I gathered, we’ll start fighting soon. In a few days.”

For the first time in his life, Ragnar is afraid of the coming battles. He has always been tense and apprehensive before a fight –only a fool wouldn’t be– but he never felt true fear. He would have remembered. Now the possibility of never coming back knots his guts painfully.

***

The pain of Ragnar’s absence fully kicks in after several days and Athelstan doesn’t know how to tell Torstein how thankful he is to have the Northman by his side. They aren’t always talking yet they spend most of their time together. At the beginning, Athelstan did feel a bit guilty to keep him away for the other Northmen, but Torstein insisted that he didn’t have the slightest envy to spend his days with Horik’s men. If Athelstan suspected Torstein said so to please him, the way Torstein wrinkled his nose with disgust when he mentioned Horik convinced him of his words.

“What about Floki? I thought you were friends.”

“Floki seems to prefer Horik’s company lately,” Torstein had replied.

It had seemed to be a sensitive issue, so Athelstan hadn’t pressed the matter. However, he often remembers Aethelwulf’s suspiciousness towards Horik and he has his own doubts since he talked with Ecbert. Athelstan looks up from the scroll he is working on, turning to Torstein who is carving an arrow in his own side of the room. He took that habit a while ago. When Athelstan starts his copying, Torstein sits in a chair and makes a bunch of arrows. They can spend hours without talking, but Athelstan likes hearing the soft scraping of the blade against the wood while he writes. He suspects he isn’t the only one relaxing to this sound, since the baby kicks him less than usual during this time.

“Torstein? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why is Horik still here?”

Athelstan notices the exact moment Torstein’s blade hitches against the arrow. He was waiting for it.

“What do you mean?”

“Ecbert said Kwenthrith needed a lot of men. Surely Horik and his warriors would have been helpful.”

“Your King needs him here in case one of your Saxon enemies decided to attack the castle.”

“We have enough of our men for that.”

This seems to confirm what Ecbert told him yet it doesn’t ring true.

“Considering what Ragnar and I did, I thought Ecbert would want to get rid of all Northmen,” Athelstan insists. “He doesn’t even like Horik.”

Torstein sighs, but he still sports a fond smile.

“I can guess what you are implying, yet I don’t have a satisfying answer. What would you do anyway?”

Athelstan shrugs, putting his quill aside. Probably nothing, but he would be sure of who Horik really is. That is to say, the man who told Ecbert about him and Ragnar. Athelstan grips the back of his chair and pushes himself up, Torstein rushing to his side before he has even straightened his back. Athelstan chuckles. It is true his back hurts, but he is still able to get up without losing balance.

“Ragnar thought of everything,” he says. “I’m sorry he made you my… uh, nurse, basically.”

“Oh, Ragnar didn’t tell me to do that. You wince every time you get on your feet, so I believed you could need the help.”

Somehow, even if Athelstan doesn’t doubt Torstein likes him, hearing all of his actions aren’t on Ragnar’s behalf is comforting.

“How would you feel about a walk?” Athelstan asks with a grin.

“I wouldn’t mind. Is your king okay with it?”

“Not yet. I’m only asking for a walk around the castle, but I will beg him if I have to.”

Athelstan isn’t kidding, he will get on his knees if Ecbert asks him to. He needs the fresh air –the last time he had a proper walk was months ago.

Despite Athelstan’s protests, Torstein accompanies him to Ecbert’s room, which already is a walk in itself. Pregnancy is really kicking in.

“It may take a while,” Athelstan tells him when they reach the door.

“Don’t worry, I am a patient man.”

Athelstan knocks, giving Torstein a contrite smile before coming in when he hears Ecbert’s voice. The king can’t hide his surprise when he sees Athelstan.

“Are you all right? Is there anything wrong with the baby?”

Ecbert’s questions concern the baby more than Athelstan, yet it is the first time in several months that he asks how Athelstan is, so it is a good point.

“Everything is fine, Sire. I have a request, though.”

Ecbert’s face turns cold as he motions for Athelstan to go on.

“I would like to go outside for a short walk. Some fresh air would be good for the baby too.”

Athelstan is a little ashamed to use the baby as a pretext, even if it isn’t a complete lie He is convinced it can’t hurt to leave these walls for a while. Ecbert doesn’t move, his gaze dropping to Athelstan stomach.

“Please, Sire. Torstein is willing to go with me, but you can get me an escort of ten men if you want to.”

“Torstein… Ragnar’s man, right? I guess he is trustworthy. You two will have an escort, of course.”

Athelstan didn’t believe it would be so easy. Nothing is this easy when it comes to his life.

“Some of Horik’s men will escort you, since you like the Northmen’s company.”

Athelstan swallows, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room.

“Horik, Sire? Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re lucky, he is in the yard right now, his horse needed some care. You can ask him yourself for some men.”

Athelstan can’t help wondering if Ecbert is aware of his doubts and wants to humiliate him. Knowing him, it is more than possible. Athelstan reigns in his envy to storm out of the room and bows to Ecbert, as much as his stomach will allow.

“Thank you, Sire.”

He takes his most grateful tone, even if he would rather spit at Ecbert’s feet.

***

Horik tries to guess what the omega is going to ask him as he crosses the yard. His lips are pressed into a thin line and his eyes are throwing daggers at Horik. Torstein is close behind, one hand loose on the axe hung at his belt. It is a shame that such a warrior is forced to follow an omega like a dog follows his master. Horik would have never asked Torstein to debase himself so much.

Horik glances at the Saxon working on the hooves of his horse. The man seems to know his job, so Horik walks away after giving a little pat on his horse’s neck. He meets the omega in the middle of the yard, planting himself in front of him with his arms crossed. Horik towers above him, yet the little man doesn’t seem impressed as he glares up at him, his jaw set. The Saxon looked like he was uneasy around Horik before, but now there is no hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I have a favour to ask you, King Horik.”

His tone is polite, despite the fact he almost spits Horik’s name. Also, a favour? What would push Ragnar’s whore to ask Horik for a favour?

“I need an escort to go for a walk and my king advised me to ask for some of your men.”

Horik doesn’t try to contain his smirk, ignoring Torstein’s scowl at that.

“So you are asking for my men to protect you?”

He doesn’t need the confirmation, just wants the omega to squirm a little as he admits it.

“Yes. If you would be so kind to give your permission, King Horik. Please.”

The omega even manages to smile. Impressive.

“How could I refuse protection to my ally’s husband? I’ll send a few men for you as soon as my horse is ready.”

Horik is already turning away when the omega stops him.

“Can we have a word in private, King Horik?”

Interesting, what is it that Torstein shouldn’t hear? Horik nods and he walks slowly away as the omega whispers something to Torstein –who doesn’t look pleased but remains where he is standing. The omega catches up with Horik, heading for a part of the yard half hidden by the stables, where no one can see them.

“You have the most beautiful smile when you beg,” Horik says as they reach their corner. “Of course, you must be used to lick boots. That may explain why that look suits you so much.”

“You’re the one to speak,” the omega hisses, putting himself in front of Horik so fast the Northman almost bumps into him. “I know why you’re here while Ragnar is risking his life in Mercia.”

This one is lucky to be Ecbert’s husband, otherwise he would already be begging on the ground for mercy. Horik snarls and steps forward, forcing the omega to back off until his back hits the wall of the stables.

“I am here because I was clever enough not to betray your king,” Horik spits, crowding the omega against the wall.

To his credit, the little whore doesn’t shrink on himself like Horik expected him to. He only clutches his hands on his belly, which is so futile Horik almost laughs.

“You’re here because you betrayed your own ally. Did you beg Ecbert to keep you safe in Wessex right after you sold Ragnar out, or did you wait a few days?”

The blatant accusation of cowardice is the last straw. Horik didn’t even talk with Ecbert about Mercia. He slams one hand on the wall, close to the omega’s head, pressing the other on his stomach, enough to be sure it hurts. The omega dips his head down, hiding his face, but Horik doesn’t miss the pained whimper, or the sob racking his shoulders. He squirms against the wall to relieve the pressure, but Horik has a firm grip.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” Horik snarls in the omega’s ear. “I don’t know what point you wanted to make by insulting me, but remember I won’t tolerate this a second time.”

Horik is about to utter another threat when there’s a flurry of movement and suddenly, he feels something sharp pressed again his own stomach. A quick glance downwards tells him it is a dagger. The omega must have been hiding it under the sleeves of his robe. He raises his head, glaring at Horik and the king notices he doesn’t seem unsettled, his eyes aren’t shiny with repressed tears. However, he does smirk a bit.

“My point is, I know what you did,” the omega tells him, pressing his dagger into Horik’s clothes. “So I warn you: you will pay for what you did to Ragnar. To us. Ragnar will come back from Mercia and you’ll pay. And if he doesn’t come back, you’ll pay even more. I’ll make sure of it.”

The omega withdraws his dagger and pushes Horik’s hand away from his stomach as the words settle in. He doesn’t find anything to reply as he watches the omega walk back to Torstein who, as it turns out, was watching them from a discreet spot. He even has his axe in hand, but lowers it when the Saxon puts one hand on his shoulder.

“I’m still waiting for my escort, of course,” the omega declares, turning to Horik and giving him a short nod.

Horik snorts once they are out of view. The omega doesn’t know what game he just started.

***

“Are you sure it was a good idea to threaten Horik?” Torstein asks as they walk away from the king.

“Yes,” Athelstan replies, his breath a bit short. He got all the information he wanted. “Now we know Horik betrayed Ragnar.”

“Yet we can’t do anything about it,” Torstein growls, his fingers tightening on his axe. Even without a soul bond, Athelstan feels his anger as if it were his own.

“Doesn’t matter. Ecbert will never ally with such a man, regardless of how he is behaving for now. Horik has lost his battle, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I wrote faster than what I expected :)
> 
> It's a bit early, but have a merry Christmas everyone!


	13. Chapter 13

Ragnar starts awake, sweaty and with Athelstan’s name on his lips. He reaches for his sword –always close to him– while he looks around frantically. No one’s here, his tent is empty. Ragnar falls back on his cot, swearing at himself. He forgot he was in Mercia for a few seconds. His dream was so real. It was more a nightmare than a dream; Athelstan being threatened and pleading Ragnar to come back. Trying to protect their baby, in vain as his attacker plunged his sword through Athelstan’s heart. An attacker who looked suspiciously like Horik.

It had been way too real, yet Ragnar knows Athelstan is alive, thanks to the tenuous bond linking them. Athelstan’s fear was real though, Ragnar can still sense it, even if it is fading. He is pretty sure that is what induced the nightmare. That will teach him to take a nap when he has more important tasks waiting for him. Ragnar grunts, throwing his sword at his feet. This soul bond is both a blessing and a curse. He would do anything to find the cause of Athelstan’s dread and make it disappear from the surface of the earth, but he is stuck here.

Ragnar startles when Aethelwulf pokes his head inside the tent.

“Are you alright? You screamed. Loudly.”

Ragnar nods, gesturing Aethelwulf to come in, almost despite himself.

“Athelstan was in danger,” Ragnar blurts out. “How can I concentrate on the coming battles if I keep wondering whether he’ll see the next day or not?”

“Do you want me to tell you he is going to be fine?” Aethelwulf asks as he sits cross-legged in front of him.

“You know him better than I do. I want to believe he’ll be able to hold his ground, yet I can’t know for sure. He is strong, but he is surrounded by so many… well, he has to face Horik.”

Ragnar was going to include Ecbert in the assholes threatening Athelstan, but he is Aethelwulf’s father. He came to appreciate the prince and insulting Ecbert in front of him is a little harder now. Moreover, Aethelwulf is also going to fight soon, he doesn’t need extra angst.

“Honestly, I think Athelstan is more than able to defend himself,” Aethelwulf replies. “Oh, and you didn’t get to witness it, but pregnancy makes him snappy. I wouldn’t try to piss him off if I were Horik. Besides, I’m sure Torstein will take good care of him. Focus on staying alive, Ragnar Lothbrok. This is how you’ll help him most.”

“Even if I can come back alive, I have no guarantee… maybe your father will never let him go.”

“My father promised you he would let you take Athelstan with you in case of victory, and he will. I agree he doesn’t believe you will survive, but if you do, he will keep his word. Trust me on this.”

Perhaps Aethelwulf is only saying so to reassure him, to have a strong warrior by his side on the battlefield. Yet Ragnar believes him. Damn it, he even suspects Aethelwulf is the one who begged his father to let Athelstan go if Ragnar survives. He can totally picture the prince doing it.

“By the way, I talked with Kwenthrith,” Aethelwulf adds. “You don’t have to fight at the front line. My father would never know about it.”

“What would the Gods think of me if I did that? Thank you, Prince, but I offended your father and I will try to make amend. Athelstan wouldn’t want a coward by his side anyway.”

Aethelwulf lets out a humourless laugh.

“I believe Athelstan doesn't want a corpse by his side either. Well, do as you wish. Just remember you have a choice.”

***

Ragnar thought they were going to fight a few days after their arrival in Mercia. He was wrong, as it turns out. Kwenthrith’s cousin –her “Problem”, as she names him– does arrive shortly after them but they don’t fight right away.

“He is afraid to fight,” Kwenthrith sneers one day, as she walks around the camp with Ragnar.

They don’t spend a lot of time together, yet the princess sometimes comes to Ragnar to speak about Athelstan, or Lagertha. She asks a lot about Lagertha, eager to discover what she likes, what happened in her past. Athelstan may have taught Kwenthrith some Norse, but it is still hard to communicate on certain subjects. The fact that she genuinely seems to care about Lagertha comforts Ragnar. Maybe this time the Shieldmaiden won’t suffer.

“He is afraid to fight,” Kwenthrith repeats, “and he dares hiding it by saying he wants to spare me a shameful defeat. I swear, he is the one who’s going to be ashamed when he goes back to his country with his head up in his ass!”

Ragnar coughs, finding nothing better to do or say. He could go for a joke, but Kwenthrith isn’t in the mood. He hasn’t seen much of her, but he is quite sure he knows when a joke can ease the princess. And today, she threatened to sever the head of her cousin’s envoy. She isn’t ready for a joke.

“I’m going to attack. I won’t just stand here and let him insult me day after day. I won’t let him siege in my lands anymore.”

“Be careful, Princess. You shouldn’t attack him out of anger. Maybe that’s what your cousin is waiting for.”

Ragnar isn’t only saying that because his head is at stake. From his point of view, Kwenthrith deserves her kingdom and somehow, it would bother him to know someone could steal it from her.

“I know he is taunting me!” Kwenthrith exclaims, and by the Gods, she is frightening. “I need to relax before planning the battle, which is why I’m speaking with you. Tell me about something cute. Athelstan, babies, whatever.”

“Uh…”

Ragnar doesn’t remember how it came up in the conversation, but he or Aethelwulf let it slip that Athelstan is pregnant. None of them admitted Ecbert isn’t the father, but Kwenthrith doesn’t need a confirmation to understand what happened.

“Usually I don’t care about babies,” Kwenthrith says, words pouring out of her mouth so fast Ragnar doesn’t catch all of them. At least she is calming down. “I mean, they are cute and all that, but I’m not so fond of them. Athelstan’s child, though, it’s not the same. Well, I should say your child, even if you don’t want to talk about it.”

He is getting a headache from hearing so much English in so little time. However, speaking of Athelstan makes him feel like they are together for a few seconds, so he won’t miss the opportunity.

“It is going to be a beautiful child. Tiny and curious like Athelstan,” he declares.

Kwenthrith casts him a strange look, all sign of agitation leaving her.

“I hope you will survive this war, Ragnar Lothbrok. That you will go back to your love and take your baby in your arms.” She snorts, as if mocking herself. “Yes, this is what I hope. Also, there’s a personal fantasy of mine I would like to see fulfilled and you need to be alive for that.”

The princess has regained her smirk. It is almost dizzying to witness how fast she can switch from one mood to another. And that fantasy thing, it is a little worrying too.

“May I ask what you’re referring to, Princess?”

“Hmm. You will have to ask Athelstan when you see him. Perhaps he will show you.”

***

The first battle happens one month later. Ragnar wakes up a little before dawn that day, fear clenching his heart. He has always been tense, somehow afraid before a fight –only a fool wouldn’t be. Yet today it is different. Fear almost paralyzes him. His breath catches in his throat every time he thinks about Athelstan, which happens quite often.

Ragnar takes his sword, unable to adjust to its familiar weight. His grip is either wobbly or too tight, so he solves the issue by putting the sword in its sheath. He has always been afraid he wouldn’t come back from a battle, would never take Gyda and Bjorn in his arms one last time. Now Gyda is gone and Bjorn is fighting by his side, but Ragnar doesn’t stop worrying. He also worries for his other sons, who still need the protection of their father. Sons who haven’t seen their father for far too long. And Aslaug? How is he going to tell her what happened? What will happen to her if Ragnar dies here?

And there is Athelstan. Ragnar isn’t willing to admit it but he is the reason of his panic. Ragnar has loved –deeply. Lagertha, whom he might still love somehow, and Aslaug after her. However, he doesn’t feel the same way for Athelstan. The bond they share is wholly different. Sometimes it is as if they were one single being. Ragnar laughs at himself at that thought, imagining what Floki would say: that’s the point of being soulmates, idiot. Well, the shipbuilder wouldn’t say idiot. Not with words, yet his smirk would convey it, or a little flick of his wrist.

“Father.”

Ragnar turns, discovering Bjorn standing at the entrance of his tent. He is already carrying his shield and axe.

“I want to fight by your side,” Bjorn declares.

“No.” Ragnar may be dying today, but he won’t see his son end the same way. “You will fight with your mother and Aethelwulf.”

Bjorns squints as he takes a step forward. Ragnar can see his knuckles turning white as he grips his shield tighter. He knew he would come to regret his son’s stubbornness one day.

“But I want to fight with you.”

“I said no. It is too dangerous with such an army against us.”

“If I can’t fight with you, I’m not worth my name!”

“Now isn’t the time for pride, Bjorn. You’re brave, and a good warrior. Yet you’re still young, so you will fight with your mother, as I ordered.”

Ragnar doesn’t like ordering Bjorn around, or reminding him he isn’t a seasoned warrior yet. But hurting his pride is better than seeing him dead on the battlefield.

“I need to be alone for this fight,” Ragnar explains in a softer tone, putting his hand on Bjorn’s shoulder. “And I want to celebrate our victory with you tonight, so stay at the back.”

Besides, he won’t be completely alone; since he woke up, Athelstan’s presence seems to be stronger than usual. Ragnar can feel his anxiety even behind his own fear. However, he also senses Athelstan’s love, as if the young omega were focusing on it to make sure Ragnar feels it. They never voiced their love –they didn’t have to– but it will be the first thing Ragnar does when they see each other again.

Ragnar catches his shield, sharing a grim smile with Bjorn. This isn’t their last day. They still have too much to do.

***

Athelstan is in his bedroom, ready to throw his dagger on a makeshift target, when he feels it. This wave of fear mixed with excitement and concentration. His heart beats so hard Athelstan almost expects it to tear its way out of his chest. His hold on the dagger loosens and he puts it down on the table before he drops it on the floor.

“Athelstan? What is it?” Torstein asks.

“Ragnar…”

His soulmate’s emotions keep increasing. Every passing second makes it harder to remain calm. Athelstan’s vision blurs, his knees weaken under his weight. He almost blacks out for a split second and sways on his feet. Torstein springs forward, grabbing him before he can fall.

“What’s going on?”

“I… I don’t know, it’s Ragnar.”

Athelstan is barely aware of Torstein guiding him to the bed. The strength of Ragnar’s emotions start decreasing, allowing Athelstan to breathe again. It doesn’t disappear, however a deep concentration settles in, only broken by occasional outbursts of brief panic.

“They… I believe they are fighting…”

If the battle has begun, it means Athelstan may feel Ragnar’s death any moment now. His heartbeat quickens again. How long is it going to last?

“Ragnar is a skilled warrior,” Torstein says. “I’ve seen him fight his way out of worse situations.”

God, Athelstan hopes he is right. He bends forward slightly, whimpering as the baby gives him an unexpected kick. Maybe it also felt all this turmoil. Athelstan grips Torstein’s hand, unable to stop digging his nails into the Northman’s skin. If Torstein is in pain, he doesn’t show it, and rubs Athelstan’s arm instead.

“It will be over soon. I’m worried too, but we can’t do anything. Just breathe, think about your best moments with Ragnar. If your emotions can reach him, it may help.”

Tearing himself from this hell is a struggle, finding a reassuring memory is even worse. It only reminds Athelstan that he may never know the joy of being with his soulmate again. Whatever his face shows at this moment, Torstein sees it, and the gentle rubbing turns into a reassuring squeeze. Athelstan lets out a deep breath.

“It will be over soon, you say?”

“Yes.”

It lasts for a few hours, yet it feels as if it were a year.

***

When at last their enemies retreat, Ragnar falls on his knees in the grass. Wherever he looks, he only sees dead bodies, Northmen and Saxons alike. Dead men and whimpering survivors. Ragnar allows himself a moment to close his eyes, catching his breath, trying to ignore the blood sticking on his face and hands. He is alive. Sore and weary, with a bitter taste lingering on his lips but he is alive. He whispers quick thanks to Odin.

Ragnar still has his eyes closed when he feels a hand on his shoulders, followed by the sound of someone landing heavily on their knees next to him, using his shoulder as a small support. The newcomer grunts, and Ragnar could recognize that grunt anywhere.

“Prince,” he says, finally opening his eyes.

Aethelwulf’s face is covered with blood, his damp curls clinging on his forehead. He has a nasty gash across his jaw, marring his beard with blood. Yet he is still sporting a tired, delusional smile.

“My son?” Ragnar asks. He hasn’t seen Bjorn during the battle, they weren’t fighting at the same part of the battlefields. Lagertha would have come to him already if something had happened, but Ragnar needs to ask.

“Oh God, your son… Don’t worry, he’s fine. Bjorn Ironside… let me tell you, he is worth his name. Lagertha is fine too.”

“We made it. For now.”

None of them is willing to add anything to that. They won today, but what is going to happen next? Kwenthrith’s cousin won’t give up so fast. Their momentary victory means nothing. Ragnar doesn’t have the strength to be optimistic right now, and hearing the pained whimpers coming from all sides of the battlefield doesn’t help.

“Father!”

Hearing his son’s voice though, it makes his heart swell with pride. As Aethelwulf said, Bjorn looks fine, mostly untouched. Ragnar spots Lagertha a little behind Bjorn, already looking for fallen Northmen with some of her men. Their day is far from being over.

Aethelwulf is the first one to get on his feet, extending his hand to help Ragnar. He arches an eyebrow at the Saxon, not moving from his spot.

“What?” Aethelwulf asks. “You don’t you look so fresh.”

“Have you seen your face?” Ragnar groans.

Yet he grabs Aethelwulf’s hand, gladly. He may have taken some nasty blows in his ribcage. Hard to remember how, most of the fight is a blur.

“Now, will you let me fight by your side next time?” Bjorn asks as he reaches them.

Ragnar grabs him, pressing him against his chest. He may love the Gods, but he doesn’t want to see his son go to Valhalla so soon.

“Not yet,” Ragnar replies. “But you’re getting closer to it.”

***

They keep fighting for weeks. Sometimes every two days, sometimes nothing happens during a whole week. It is getting too long and if Ragnar weren’t so scared of dying there, he would be bored. Neither Kwenthrith nor his cousin seem willing to give up. He can understand that the princess wants to defend her throne; anyone in her position would do the same. If only she could secure it quickly.

“I don’t think Lagertha shares your views,” Aethelwulf tells him when Ragnar confides his thoughts to him.

They took the habit of staying in Ragnar’s tent almost every evening, with Bjorn joining them sometimes, and tonight is one of these evenings. They had a long fight today, during which one of their enemies barely missed gutting Ragnar. If Aethelwulf hadn’t been there, Ragnar would be dead. It seemed quite logical to invite him and thank him with a drink.

“Even Lagertha is tired of fighting,” Ragnar counters. “But it is true that the longer this war lasts, the longer she remains with Kwenthrith.”

Ragnar doesn’t know what Lagertha is going to do. They came here to find wealth and lands, so she has no reason to leave when Ragnar does. Yet he doesn’t believe she can stay with Kwenthrith either. The princess is probably going to have a political marriage of some sort one day, which doesn’t include Lagertha.

“Anyway, it is their business,” Ragnar concludes aloud, unsure if Aethelwulf can follow his train of thoughts. The prince shrugs in answer, taking a sip from his drink.

“I will miss him, you know,” Aethelwulf says suddenly.

Ragnar is at a loss for a second, yet he can guess who Aethelwulf is referring to.

“When Athelstan leaves with you, I will miss him,” Aethelwulf explains. “Oh, and I would have loooved seeing you child growing up.”

“If we leave, it doesn’t mean we won’t come back,” Ragnar replies before he can think about it. “It’s Athelstan’s country after all.”

“Hmm. Yes, I hope… Do you smell that?”

At first Ragnar believes Aethelwulf had one too many as he watches him scrunching his nose and turning his head towards the exit of the tent. Then, Ragnar imitates him and he smells it. The unmistakable smell of smoke.

“Shit,” he growls.

They both spring out of his tent at the exact moment one of the warriors –Saxon or Northman, Ragnar has no idea– sounds the alarm. Frantic men rise from their respective tents within seconds. Ragnar pays no attention to it, he is still trying to spot where the fire started.

“Over there!” Aethelwulf exclaims, tapping his shoulder.

The prince indicates him the outer part of their camp, the one exposed to enemy lines. The fire makes the dark sky glow, while the smoke is already spreading high above the tents. Someone screams.

Aethelwulf’s hand flies to his belt, but he doesn’t have his sword with him. He snarls, glancing around, ready to grab the first weapon he sees. Ragnar dives back into his tent and presses an axe into the prince’s palm.

“It’s not really like your sword, but you’ll do fine.”

Aethelwulf nods and they rush towards the attacked part of the camp, if it is indeed the only side under attack. With the general confusion, they have no way to know. Aethelwulf tries to both calm and rally the men on their way, with a moderate success. It is chaos. Enemies fall upon them from nowhere as they almost reach their destination. A man aims for Aethelwulf’s head and Ragnar barely has time to catch his arm, drawing him back. He blocks the other’s blow, sending him on the ground in the process. He raises his arm to end what he started, yet Aethelwulf beats him to it, plunging his axe into the man’s chest with a scream.

“We can’t do anything here,” Ragnar tells him in a rush. “We have to go to the castle.”

They have to act fast. More and more men appear from all sides. If they stay here, they are lost.

“This way,” Aethelwulf instructs, pointing at a way that will get them quicker to the castle.

They break into a run, fighting off their opponents the fastest they can manage. They hear the sound of a horn, followed by more screams.

“We’re almost there!” Aethelwulf exclaims, turning back to Ragnar. “We’re going to get these fuckers…”

He stops mid-rant, eyes widening as he stares at a point beyond Ragnar’s shoulder.

“Move!” the prince screams to Ragnar, drawing his axe back with the intention of throwing it.

Ragnar understands what is happening within a second. It is a second too late. Something hits his back and a searing pain seizes him. He gasps as he falls forward, his vision already blurring. Feet move around him. He hears the echoing sound of blades clashing together. Yet it seems far away. So far…

***

At this exact moment, in a quiet castle miles away from any battle, a broken scream pierces through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuh... sorry for the cliché cliffhanger? I will try to update next chapter soon, since I already wrote a good part of it :)
> 
> Oh and of course, happy new year!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we welcome the baby, so just know that I didn't get into gory details for this part ;)

Athelstan jolts awake in the middle of the night, tears prickling his eyes. One hand clenches his stomach while the other goes to his chest to feel his racing heartbeat. He was having a nightmare… no, it wasn’t a nightmare. The invisible thread linking him too Ragnar is flickering. Athelstan sits up, pushing his blanket away.

“No… no, no, no…”

The bond keeps wavering for a few seconds, each time bringing a stabbing pain that courses through him. Then it disappears and someone starts screaming. Athelstan vaguely registers it must be him. He screams for a long time, even when someone comes in, even when his throat becomes raw. And when Athelstan can’t scream anymore, sobs start raking his body. That’s when he realizes Torstein is next to him, whispering soothing words. Of course he heard him, he moved in an empty room next to Athelstan several days ago. He is only two weeks away from giving birth, and both Ecbert and Torstein agreed that the Northman should be closer, just in case.

“Breathe,” Torstein says, “just breathe.”

“I c-can’t… I-I can’t feel him… I…”

Athelstan shuts his eyes so hard it hurts, trying to focus. He can’t… wait, there is something. A tenuous bond, so tiny Athelstan didn’t notice it in his panic. But it is weak, which means Ragnar…

“He’s going to die!” Athelstan exclaims, turning in Torstein’s arms to face him. “The bond almost disappeared and… he was wounded, I know it.”

“Shh, calm down. He isn’t dead, just focus on this. He isn’t dead.”

“He’s… I…”

Athelstan gives up and buries his face against Torstein’s shoulder, who holds him as well as he can with Athelstan’s large stomach between them. Athelstan can hear some noise in the hallway. Maybe his screams were louder than he thought.

“Away, all of you!” a firm voice orders outside of his bedroom.

Athelstan’s panic turns into rage as soon as he hears that voice. Ecbert comes in at the same time Athelstan tears himself away from Torstein’s arms.

“What happened?” Ecbert asks, at least honestly worried. “I thought you were…”

“It’s your fault!” Athelstan shouts. He attempts to get up, but he isn’t very agile these days and he falls back miserably on the bed. “He almost died because of you!”

Athelstan tries to stand again, yet this time Torstein throws one arm across his chest, preventing any move.

“Calm down,” the Northman whispers. “You’re going to hurt yourself, or your baby.”

Athelstan hisses, glaring at Ecbert. The king takes a step forward, lowering his gaze for a moment.

“Athelstan, I just want to make sure–” Ecbert begins, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

“Go away! Go away, I don’t want to see you! You killed him, you…”

Athelstan gasps as another pain hits him. It has nothing to do with the soul bond; he knows it right away.

“It’s nothing,” he growls nonetheless, clutching his stomach, when Ecbert opens his mouth. “The baby hates you too, it just wants you to know it.”

“Don’t be childish.”

To Athelstan’s surprise, Ecbert doesn’t sound angry or spiteful. He seems as concerned as Torstein.

“You’re going into labour,” Ecbert adds. “We all know it. I’m sending a servant to fetch the midwife.”

“But there are still two weeks left,” Athelstan protests, as a contraction contradicts his words.

“I would rather say there are two hours left,” Torstein replies.

“We need that midwife,” Ecbert decides.

Athelstan doesn’t see him leave; he is too busy doubling over when a new contraction hits him.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Torstein says.

“No! Please stay. I will have plenty of water soon enough.”

Speaking of which, something wet seeps between his legs. Great.

“I think my waters broke… What do I do? Where is the midwife?”

Torstein shakes his head, glancing frantically around the room. Maybe in search of the midwife. A stronger contraction hits Athelstan, and this time he has to grit his teeth to keep from whimpering.

“I wish I could help… I don’t know a lot about giving birth,” Torstein apologizes.

“It’s okay. You’re already letting me dig my nails in your hand, it helps more than you think.”

As the contractions intensify in strength and frequency, Athelstan is pretty sure Torstein will keep crescent scars in his palm forever.

By the time Ecbert brings the midwife back, Athelstan is lying on his side, reduced to a whimpering mess.

“Your highness,” she says, crouching in front of him and looking at him with warm, reassuring brown eyes.

“P-please,” Athelstan replies, swallowing hard. “No one ever calls me ‘your highness’. No need to start now. Ow!”

That contraction was hard, even his lower back hurts.

“Do you need anything?” Ecberts asks the midwife.

“Water, towels, someone to help me and calm.”

Ecbert motions several servants to assist the midwife as he comes closer to the bed. Athelstan lifts his head from the mattress, glaring up at him.

“Speaking of calm, I don’t want you here,” he spits. “Get out!”

“It would be wiser, Sire,” the midwife adds. “You might get more affected by it than you think.”

It is astounding how easily Ecbert obeys. Years ago, his nervous look as he leaves would have been touching, but today Athelstan doesn’t feel anything. Besides, Ecbert’s worry may only be directed towards the baby.

“You should go too,” Athelstan tells Torstein, any animosity gone. “I’m afraid I’m going to be all snappy –ah!– for the next hours and… and I don’t want to take it out on you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Yes but… I’m in good hands now.”

The truth is, Athelstan doesn’t want Torstein to see this. He also doesn’t want to yell at him if he loses his self-control, but he mainly wants to stay alone with the midwife and the servant helping her.

“As you wish. If you need me to… uh, do whatever you do in such cases, call me. I’ll stay in the hallway.”

It is hard to let go of Torstein’s hand but another contraction distracts Athelstan and his hands fly to his stomach.

“Take deep breaths,” the midwife tells him. “You’re going to change positions soon, it will be easier.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Athelstan does as instructed, focusing on the midwife’s face as she pushes up his robe to look between his legs.

“What’s your name? In my head you’re always ‘the midwife’, but I would rather know your name.”

“Mary.”

Ah Mary, what an irony after all his sins. But is adultery a sin when it is committed with your soulmate? Damn it, now isn’t the time for such questions. Pain hits Athelstan again and he yelps. His thoughts drift to Ragnar. Is he in pain too? Would Athelstan feel it now if Ragnar died, with everything fuzzy around him?

“I’m glad you’re here, Mary,” he declares, more to anchor himself in reality than to talk. “I’m Athelstan.”

The woman gives him a comforting smile while she puts delicate hands on his stomach. They don’t even feel cold on his skin.

“I know, your high– I mean, Athelstan. Right, time to move up. It will be less painful.”

If Athelstan could jump from the bed, he would. Anything able to relieve the pain is more than welcome.

***

Hours pass and Ecbert is still waiting in the hallway. With the Northman, both of them sitting on the floor right in front of the door. They don’t talk, but they do exchange some glances when they hear a particularly loud scream. Every time he hears movement in the room, Ecbert prays the midwife is going to open the door with a tiny screaming baby in her arms, but nothing happens. The wait is an agony. Judging from what they hear, Athelstan is in agony too. At the beginning, Ecbert told himself he didn’t care. Athelstan brought it on himself. But maybe… maybe Ecbert had something to do with it. Maybe he isn’t the one who should be angry. Maybe he doesn’t want Athelstan to die in this room, because let’s face it, things don’t look good.

The Northman looks so worried you could mistake him for the father. Ecbert lets out a chuckle at this: he doesn’t even feel angered while he considers this. He isn’t sure he would be angry if it were Ragnar standing here.

“Hey,” Ecbert mutters to the Northman, who is currently biting his nails. “This will make you feel a little better.”

It isn’t guaranteed his words will come across, so Ecbert hands him the jug of wine a servant brought earlier. He refused to sit on a chair, but after three hours of waiting, he couldn’t say no to the wine. The Northman –Torstein, now he remembers– doesn’t move, eyes going from Ecbert’s face to the jug of wine.

“Oh, come on,” the king insists, almost pushing it in Torsein’s hands. “I’ve been drinking like a selfish asshole for too long. Drink.”

Torstein nods and takes a hesitant first sip. Then a second one, quickly followed by a third, and he gives it back to Ecbert.

“Ah, better, isn’t it?”

Of course, it couldn’t be any other way, the midwife opens the door at the precise moment Ecbert brings the jug to his lips. He feels like a child caught stealing.

“What are you doing?” the midwife asks, pursuing before Ecbert can answer. “Never mind. I need to tell you something. Important.”

Ecbert struggles to get back on his feet at the same time Torstein does. The midwife is pale, she looks tensed. She didn’t look this way when she helped Ecbert’s deceased wife give birth, a long time ago.

“I’m afraid I won’t like it but tell me.”

“The baby is on the wrong side and I can’t turn it. Athelstan is exhausted. He won’t make it if we keep going like this.”

Ecbert braces one hand on the wall.

“What do you suggest?”

“I can help him but it is dangerous. He might die. If he survives, he might never be able to have children again.”

“You’re not improving our situation,” Ecbert growls.

“He might die yet it is his only chance. I have to open his stomach.”

Ecbert wants to throw up. He wishes he could be like Torstein: at a loss, not understanding a single word.

“Have you ever done this before?” the king asks.

“Once. It succeeded. I’m confident I can succeed again.”

“You didn’t sound so confident ten seconds ago,” Ecbert snaps. He closes his eyes for a moment. It isn’t her fault. She’s doing her best. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’re the King, as well as the father. I must ask you.”

“I’m not the…”

The midwife frowns as he interrupts himself. Damn it.

“Tonight I’m not a king,” Ecbert declares. “I’m a husband and I need to see Athelstan.”

“No, we shouldn’t waste time Sire, I told you he is exhausted,” the midwife exclaims, trying to block him out of the room.

“I won’t be long.”

He pushes past her, his steps faltering a little when Athelstan comes into view. He is lying on his back in the middle of the bed, the lower part of his white robe smeared with blood. He already looks dead.

Ecbert kneels by the bed, pushing away some of Athelstan’s sweaty curls away from his face. Athelstan opens his eyes, his gaze slightly unfocused for a few seconds before settling on Ecbert. A sudden surge of guilt overwhelms him.

“What...?” Athelstan whispers, unable to utter more words.

“Shh. The midwife told me about the baby. She is going to solve this, but you have to stay strong.”

“Why are you… why do you… care?”

“I want you to live.”

Athelstan blinks, and he tries to move as if to turn his head away.

“I won’t,” he whispers. “I’m not strong enough.”

His face suddenly contorts with pain as his chest heaves up.

“You will. It will be painful but you will. And after that, I will let you go.”

“What?”

Ecbert doesn’t know why he says it. He doesn’t want Athelstan to go, yet it is the right thing to do, as much as he hates it. Besides if Ragnar dies, which might be happening right now, Ecbert could keep Athelstan. Yet the way Athelstan’s eyes fill with tears that have nothing to do with pain comforts him in his decision.

“I will let you go with Ragnar and your child.”

Yes, it is easy to say it know when both of them might be dead by morning. Yet if it can give Athelstan enough strength for what is to come, it is worth it. And Ecbert will keep his promise.

“If you say… this… it means I’m going to die,” Athelstan says.

“No! You won’t, and you will have a life away from this castle. I swear. Now be strong for a little longer, it will be over soon.”

It is time for Ecbert to leave, he can feel the midwife’s disapproving stare burning his back. Athelstan closes his eyes again and nods –at what in particular, Ecbert has no idea.

“Do what you must,” Ecbert whispers to the midwife on his way out. “But he’d better be alive when you’re done.”

***

Ecbert is sick of this hallway. He is sick of studying each stone composing the wall, one by one. After the midwife locks him out of Athelstan’s bedroom again, nothing happens for a while, hence the studying of the wall.  
Then, assumedly when the midwife begins her task, Athelstan screams again. The plants the midwife uses to dull the pain of her patients must not be enough, as Ecbert feared. It is hard to keep from bursting into the room to stop everything.

And at last, they hear another kind of screaming. A crying child, and Ecbert might start crying too. He glances at Torstein, whose eyes start shining, even if he still looks worried to death. Before any of them can think of what they should do, the midwife gets out of the room holding a tiny wailing thing wrapped in a blanket. She puts the child between Ecbert’s arms, in a hurry but with care.

“You have to call the wet nurse to take care of your daughter, Sire. I must go back to tend to Athelstan.”

Ecbert wants to protest but she storms back into the bedroom and he is left in the hallway, not quite sure of what he should do. He loved holding Aethelwulf against his chest when he was a baby, yet that was a long time ago, and Aethelwulf was a quiet baby. This one isn’t.

“Call the wet nurse,” Ecbert babbles to one servant. He didn’t summon them, but they remained close to the hallway, thankfully. They should get the nurse soon.

Meanwhile, Ecbert brings the baby closer to his chest, hoping the warmth will calm her. Torstein approaches with an irrepressible smile.

“Hello you,” he says in Norse, then goes on with more elaborate sentences Ecbert can’t understand.

The baby can’t understand either –obviously– yet the Northman’s voice has a soothing effect on her. It is still a relief when the wet nurse arrives and takes the baby in her arms.

“Don’t go too far,” Ecbert instructs as she walks away. “Athelstan will want to see her when he is ready.”

“Yes, Sire.”

It takes an awfully long time for the midwife to leave the bedroom again. Everything is silent. Ecbert is surprised to realise he preferred the screaming. At least he was sure Athelstan was alive.

The midwife seems exhausted when she reappears. She holds her palms up when Ecbert and Torstein move towards her like a single man. Her brown dress sports large red stains and there are some remnants of blood on her hands.

“Athelstan made it, Sire,” she declares, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can see him for a short while but he will fall asleep soon.”

Ecbert’s relief is huge. However, this is far from being over.

“Will he live?” he asks the midwife.

“If he doesn’t get a fever or an infection, yes. I will take care of him myself for the next days.”

“Yes. Perfect.” Ecbert moves to go inside and stops with his hand on the door, turning back to the woman. “Can the two of us go? Won’t it be too much for him?”

He can leave Torstein in the hallway. It isn’t that he cares a lot about the Northman’s well-being yet he has been waiting as long as Ecbert did, maybe even more worried than him. It is only fair that he gets to see Athelstan. Also, the king suspects Athelstan will find more comfort with Torstein here.

“As I said, you can go Sire, if you don’t stay for too long. And I will need the help of your servants to clean his bed and change his clothes.”

Ecbert doesn’t ask why. The answer is obvious as soon as he lays eyes on Athelstan. The sheets are even redder than before. Same for his nightgown. Ecbert swallows as he and Torstein sit at the edge of the bed. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but Ahelstan may not even register what he is seeing. His eyes are half-closed, shifting slowly from Ecbert to the Northman.

“Ragnar,” he mutters, his fingers shifting towards Torstein.

After all they went through, it still stings a bit to know that Athelstan will never love Ecbert as he loves Ragnar. That he never loved him this way.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Torstein whispers, closing his large hand on Athelstan’s fingers. “Ragnar isn’t back yet. He has never been one for punctuality.”

Athelstan lets out a disappointed hum as he closes his eyes and fine, Ecbert might feel guilty right now. He can see the midwife watching over them from the corner of his eye and her insistent stare must mean they have to leave.

“You have a beautiful little girl, Athelstan,” Ecbert declares. He can’t find anything else to say.

“Is she… will she live?” Athelstan asks, managing to flutter his eyelids to look at him.

“Yes, she seems very strong. You can be proud of yourself. I am sure Ragnar will be proud of you too.”

Ecbert doesn’t give a damn about what Ragnar is going to feel. It doesn’t concern him. Yet Athelstan’s cheeks colour slightly –which makes him look less like a dying man– so it is worth saying it.

“Sleep well,” Ecbert says. “We will bring you the baby in the morning.”

He gets up to leave Athelstan a few seconds in private with Torstein, who is already whispering soothing words in Norse, soon beyond Ecbert’s knowledge. He walks away hoping Athelstan will make it through the night.

***

Ragnar wakes up in a room he has never seen before. Well, waking up isn’t the proper word. For a few seconds he doesn’t even know if he is still alive. How did he end up here? What happened anyway? Why does everything hurt?

He groans, trying to roll on his back to turn away from the pale morning light. All his muscles feel stiff and sore and as Ragnar moves, his groan gets louder.

“Don’t do that,” someone orders.

There is movement around him, and Lagertha appears into his hazy field of view. Her face is bruised, her features tired. She manages to look worried and relieved at the same time.

“Stay on your side,” she says in a softer tone. “I wouldn’t try to turn on my back if I were you.”

“Where am I?”

His tongue feels too big for his mouth. He is so thirsty.

“Safe in Kwenthrith’s castle. Aethelwulf brought you here after you were…” Lagertha stops to swallow, a flash of anger appearing on her face. “Wounded. We weren’t sure you would get through the night.”

“I can’t recall what happened.”

“A fucking bastard hit you in the back,” Lagertha hisses. “He’s dead, Aethelwulf got him.”

Ah yes, the battle. If you can call that a battle. Ragnar had forgotten about it, another matter more pressing on his mind.

“Athelstan. I can’t… I almost can’t sense him. Where is he?”

“I… I don’t know. Wessex, I guess.”

Lagertha leans forward to put her hand on Ragnar’s forehead, which annoys him even she means well.

“I’m not delirious. Our bond is weak. It’s never been so weak.”

It is hard to speak with his mouth so dry. Lagertha grabs a cup of water and brings it to his lips, moving his chest upward a bit so that he doesn’t choke.

“That may be because you aren’t so strong yourself at the moment,” she suggests.

“No. He isn’t well. Perhaps something happened with the baby.”

Lagertha bites her lower lip and Ragnar knows exactly what she is thinking about. They both experienced the pain of losing an unborn child. He didn’t intend to bring back such memories.

“I have to go back to Wessex,” Ragnar decides.

“Like this? You don’t have the strength to lift your head. Travelling wouldn’t be wise. Besides, our enemies would block you.”

Ragnar should worry more about this than he really does; Athelstan’s freedom depends on their success after all. Yet he can’t bring himself to care about anything other than his soulmate.

“Are they winning?” he asks nonetheless.

“No,” Lagertha replies, a ruthless smile tilting up the corners of her mouth. “I bet they believed they would, after attacking us in the middle of the night. Sure, it cost us precious warriors, yet these assholes are back in their own camp. And Kwenthrith is furious.”

“Is she planning every possible way to get her cousin’s head off his shoulders?”

Lagertha’s nod brings him an unexpected comfort. Kwenthrith is at her best when she has murderous plans –her enemies are already dead. They won’t see it coming.

“Speaking of Kwenthrith’s plans, I must go. She needs me and you need rest.”

“Whatever you two decide to do, stay alive.”

Ragnar doesn’t mean to beg, but he does a little.

“I’ll be fine. Oh, and Bjorn may stop by your room later. He is busy sharpening his blades for now, but he wants to see his father.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to take turns watching over me?”

Lagertha chuckles as she walks away. Ragnar knows her well enough to notice her smile his forced, yet he appreciates the effort.

“Where did you get this idea?”

After she leaves, Ragnar struggles to stay awake, hoping with every new –painful– breath that the bond is going to strengthen. It doesn’t. However it doesn’t weaken either and as sleep claims him, Ragnar is convinced that the comforting presence of the bond will still be there when he wakes up.


	15. Chapter 15

Athelstan wakes up after a dreamless night. A long night, yet he feels exhausted, to the point that lifting his hand off the mattress is difficult. He shifts on the bed, the movement awaking a dull pain in his lower stomach.

Athelstan remembers what happened, but before he can panic, he spots the midwife slumped in a chair at the end of the bed. She is asleep, her neck bending forward in what is going to be a painful angle soon. Athelstan tries to sit up, keeping his grunts at a low volume. Mary must be light sleeper –she wakes up after only a few seconds.

“Oh my God, you’re going to ruin your stitches, Sire,” she exclaims, springing off the chair to help him.

“Athelstan,” he reminds her, hoping his smile doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “How is my daughter?”

“You remember it is a little girl?”

“I wouldn’t forget that. Is she alright?”

“Well, the concoction I gave you yesterday was strong. I didn’t believe you would remember much. And yes, don’t worry, she is in good hands. I think your husband and your friend even stayed all night with the wet nurse, from what some servants told me. They couldn’t stop smiling at the baby.”

“Will I be able to see her?”

“Of course, as soon as she awakes. For now, I have to check your stitches. Everything went fine but I don’t want to risk an infection.”

Mary pushes up his nightgown. She doesn’t pay any attention to his lower parts, staring at his stitches instead. Athelstan can’t help feeling self-conscious, even if she has already seen almost all of his body.

“The wound is clean. Very good sign.”

Despite his relief, the mention of the wound reminds him of Ragnar, his heart clenching with guilt for not thinking about him sooner. Now that he thinks about it, Athelstan knows why he didn’t focus on Ragnar as soon as he opened his eyes: the steady feeling of Ragnar’s presence is back, so familiar Athelstan didn’t notice it in his fuzzy state. The bond doesn’t have its usual strength but it is there. Athelstan lets out a shaky breath.

“Are you in pain when you breathe?” the midwife asks immediately.

“No, not at all. I… never thought we would make it alive.”

“You are stronger than you think, Athelstan. Your daughter too, even if she was borne a little earlier than expected.”

Mary turns towards the table where all her tools and flasks are scattered. Some utensils are still bloody. Athelstan suddenly hopes no blood was spattered on his books and wants to slap himself for the silly thought a second later. Anyway, he straightens up to get a better look, and spots his books under the table, tidied into a neat pile.  
When Mary is done rummaging through her bag and mixing what must be plants, she turns back to Athelstan, handing him a wooden cup.

“Drink, this will quicken your healing.”

The smell isn’t encouraging yet Athelstan obeys, swallowing faster when the concoction turns out to be rather sour. He tries not to scrunch up his nose, to no avail.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

Mary waves his apology away with a fond smile.

“Don’t be, I tasted it and it is true it isn’t the kind of beverage you would serve for a feast. It is very effective, though. And it will make you sleep, something I suspect you won’t be doing unless forced to.”

Athelstan opens his mouth to protest, only to have his words replaced by a yawn.

“I still want to see my daughter,” he says as he sags into his pillow.

“You will, I promise. After you get some rest.”

Athelstan closes his eyes as she tucks the blankets around him and this time, his sleep is full of vivid, hopeful dreams.

***

When Athelstan wakes up hours later, he feels less terrible. He doesn’t have much of his strength back but he doesn’t feel as heavy as before. This time Mary isn’t slumped in a chair, sitting instead on the bed and watching him with a motherly smile.

“Did you watch me the whole time?” Athelstan croaks, a little afraid of her answer.

“No,” she chuckles. “You grunted before waking up. I believe you also muttered in a strange language.”

Since he was dreaming of Ragnar coming back and swirling him off the ground as a greeting, he might have indeed talked in Norse. Athelstan wishes he could have kept dreaming for a little longer. Yet he has something else to look forward to now.

“Can I see my daughter? I really need to.”

“Yes, I’m going to bring her to you. It won’t take long.”

She isn’t lying. Athelstan’s breath catches in his throat when she enters the room with a bundle of white fabric in her arms. As he sits up, all he can see is a tiny hand clenched in a loose fist, with even tinier fingers. Mary places the baby between his arms, and Athelstan suddenly tenses. His daughter is so small, how can he hold her without causing her any harm? What if he drops her? He doesn’t intend to of course, but it could happen. Mary smiles and presses on his upper arms with the tip of her fingers, indicating him how to tighten his embrace. The baby is moving slightly, turning towards Athelstan’s chest. She lets out a small whimper and Athelstan gasps.

“Is she okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“She’s fine. A fine baby making normal noises. She might be hungry soon, though.”

Oh. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, Athelstan’s nipples are sore and he could use some relief. He brushes his hand against the scarce hair scattered on his daughter’s head. He has never touched anything so thin. Then, he strokes the tiny hand with his forefinger, laughing when his daughter grabs it with a surprising strength for such a small baby.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers. If he were any person walking into the room, any person not related to this baby, he wouldn’t think so. Her head still has that strange shape characteristic of most newborns, her eyes aren’t fully open. But she is his daughter. Ragnar’s. She is the most beautiful thing in the world. No one will change his mind on this point.

“Are you sure she will be alright?” Athelstan asks. “She is two weeks early. I don’t know anything about children… she’s my first baby.”

Athelstan looks up just in time to see a flash of sadness on Mary’s face, quickly replaced by a comforting smile. He feels stupid. Of course it is his first child and of course she knows it.

“She will be fine. Telling you to stop worrying about that is easy to say, I am aware. But it is on you that I want to keep a close eye for a few days and then both of you will be free of my presence.”

She is teasing, speaking in a light tone. Yet Athelstan can’t let her say this.

“Your presence means a lot to me, Mary. You saved our lives. I will never thank you enough.”

“Seeing you holding you daughter and looking at her like she is the sun is my reward, trust me,” Mary replies, patting his knee before getting up.

“Are you leaving?”

“For a little while. Your husband will come here soon, along with your friend. You have no idea how hard it was to keep them away for so long,” she adds with a wink. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Athelstan’s first impulse is to say no, but his eyes land on the thick fur Ragnar left him. It is lying on the ground next to his books, probably pushed away in a hurry when Mary tended to him.

“Could you hand me this fur?”

Mary picks it up and tucks Athelstan under it. He squirms a bit to drape an edge of the fur over one shoulder, warmth already spreading in him. He decides not to wrap the baby in it, with all these hairs, it could bad for her breathing. Damn, he is already worrying himself to death over little things. This is promising. Mary grins at him –them– while she arranges the rest of the fur over his legs. He must be quite a sight, half-draped in the fur, the baby clutched to his chest.

“Thank you,” he tells Mary. She is an angel to him.

“My pleasure, Athelstan. I will see you soon. Oh, and if your husband and your friend get too annoying or start fussing too much for your liking, don’t hesitate to kick them out. Metaphorically, I mean. Midwife’s orders.”

Athelstan laughs and the baby lets out a surprised whimper at the new movement.

“It’s okay, you’re safe my little one.”

He is so busy staring at her and whispering nonsense that he doesn’t see Mary leaving the room. Soon the baby falls asleep in his arms and Athelstan buries himself a little more under the fur, forbidding himself to imitate his daughter. What if his hold loosens while he sleeps? No, he doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, Athelstan focuses on each part of her little face, hoping the love and pride he feels for her reach Ragnar. What did Ragnar feel when all this happened? Giving birth was an agony. Athelstan had never been in such pain, even before things went wrong and he understands his baby would have never seen this world without Mary’s help. Did Ragnar understand what was going on? Maybe he was too weakened by his wound –or wounds– to notice any of Athelstan’s ordeal. He could have been unconscious at the time, perhaps he still is. Anyway, sooner or later he will feel Athelstan’s joy. His hope too, because he is quite sure he didn’t dream the part where Ecbert set him free.

At some point there is a careful knock on his door, more to announce his visitors’ presence than to wait for his permission, since they open it a second later. Athelstan can’t help tensing when Ecbert comes in, but he relaxes when Torstein appears behind him. Both men are smiling, which is a surprise when it comes to Ecbert. The king sits next to Athelstan while Torstein takes a chair to sit near them, managing to never look away from Athelstan and the baby.

“I won’t stay for long,” Ecbert declares. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I am tired. But Mary says we should be fine.”

Ecbert nods, gaze flickering down. He opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it, shaking his head. What is it now?

“I don’t know if you remember what I said before the midwife… delivered the baby, but it still stands. I wasn’t saying so because I thought you were dying.”

Athelstan’s eyes do water, a bit. Having it confirmed is overwhelming. He nods his understanding, ducking his head both to stare at his baby and to regain his calm. Athelstan wants to say something, but he can’t get words out of his mouth. He nods again, frantic.

“Good. I will come back another time.”

That was brief. Unexpected. Relieving. Since when seeing Ecbert started being relieving?

“What happened to him?” Athelstan asks Torstein when he can trust his voice again.

The Northman shrugs, dragging his chair closer, careful not to make too much noise. The baby doesn’t even stir.

“It was bad, you know. We… we thought you were going to die. Your king didn’t say anything yet I could see it in his eyes.”

“I’m alive, and almost fine”, Athelstan counters, rolling his eyes when Torstein coughs disapprovingly. “As I said, almost. I thought he would take the baby away from me, give her to the wet nurse to make me suffer.”

“No matter how cruel he has been to you, I don’t think he wants you dead. Last night might have changed his mind, it could have helped him realise how much of an ass he has been.”

Athelstan has no idea. His mind is still a bit foggy, to say the truth. Besides, it is hard to focus on the depths of Ecbert’s tortuous mind when he is holding a part of his future against his chest. As if reading his thoughts, his daughter whimpers, tiny fingers fumbling against the fabric of his nightgown. Soon the whimper gets louder, becomes more demanding. Athelstan glances at Torstein, unsure. She might be hungry, but the wet nurse may have already fed her. What happens if you give too much food to a baby? Well, milk in that case.

Torstein comes closer, pushing away some of the fabric wrapped around the baby to get a look at her face, which will be scrunched up into a wail in a few seconds.

“I believe she is hungry,” Torstein declares.

“Oh… oh, great. I wasn’t sure.” Athelstan can’t keep the blush off his cheeks. He is so bad at this.

“You’re doing fine. I would be scared shitless.”

Athelstan chuckles, more of a nervous sound than anything, unlacing his nightgown and baring a nipple. The baby fumbles until he guides her, and her face relaxes as soon as she starts suckling.

“Aww,” Torstein moans. “She’s going to be a fierce little girl.”

Athelstan laughs, keeping it small to avoid steering on his stitches.

“You can guess that just from watching her suckling on a nipple?”

“She is doing so with a remarkable energy,” Torstein replies, very serious.

Once she is done eating, Athelstan tries to put her on his shoulder for her burp. He doesn’t know a lot about babies –he was given some vague lectures a long, long time ago by the physician– but he remembers that. The problem is, his arms are caught up in the fur and the sheet, and even if the baby is light, he doesn’t trust his strength so much. Fortunately, Torstein isn’t one to watch him struggle.

“May I?” the Northman asks, extending his arms towards the baby. “If you trust me with this, of course.”

“Torstein, you have no idea how much I trust you.”

Athelstan places her carefully into Torstein’s arms, cursing himself for his lack of knowledge when the baby whines in protest.

“Oooh, don’t worry tiny baby,” Torstein babbles, propping her on his shoulders, patting her back with feather-like touches. “I’m only borrowing you for a short while, so that your father can rest.”

Contrary to what Athelstan feared, the baby doesn’t wail, soothed by Torstein’s words. Athelstan seizes the opportunity to stretch his arms before burying himself under the comforting fur.

“You’re good with babies,” he points out.

“I may have spent some time around babies before, to be honest.”

That explains a lot.

“Ragnar’s?” Athelstan ventures. It is more than possible: Torstein is close to Ragnar, who has several children. And Torstein seems to like children, so.

“Yes, among others.”

If they leave with Ragnar, Athelstan hopes everything will be fine with his boys. Perhaps they won’t like having someone other than their mother in the household. They may not like their new sister.

A small burp escapes the baby, so small he almost misses it. A satisfied grin lightens Torstein’s face.

“Do you want her back? I think our mission is accomplished here.”

Athelstan would love to. He should, yet he feels sleepy again. When he opens his mouth to answer, his words are replaced by a yawn.

“Oh, sorry,” he babbles. “I’m not sure it is safe for her if I fall asleep.”

Yet he yearns to keep her close. His dilemma may be obvious on his face, since –to his delight– Torstein offers a solution.

“I can keep her and stay here if you want.”

He shifts closer, but Athelstan has a better idea. This bed is large enough for two. Well, two plus a tiny one.

“You can lie down next to me. I promise I won’t kick you while sleeping.”

Torstein climbs on the other side of the bed, unceremoniously kicking his boots off. When he is settled, Athelstan turns on his side, resting his head on the Northman’s shoulder to get a better look at his baby. He sneaks one hand out of the fur to stroke her thin hair. She looks so fragile.

“Have you chosen a name already?”

“Yes. Dagrun, I think. If Ragnar agrees.”

“A Norse name, then. When did you hear it? None of our shieldmaidens bear this name.”

“During one of my travel. I always thought it beautiful.”

Besides, if she is to grow up in a Norse country, it will be easier to fit in with a Norse name.

“Can you tell me about Ragnar’s family? I would like to know more, for when I meet them.”

“I can already say they will like you,” Torstein chirps. Athelstan isn’t so sure about this part, even if Torstein seems to be. He isn’t convinced he would be happy if he were Ragnar’s wife. “Where to start? You have met Bjorn. He will be overjoyed to have a sister, believe me. His younger brothers will be too, I think.”

“How many are they?”

“Three. Ubbe, Hvitserk and Ivar.”

Torstein tells Athelstan about the little boys, how Aslaug refused to let go of Ivar, even with his bad leg. How Ragnar was unable to kill the baby, even if he should have done so, according to their rules. Athelstan listens to Torstein until his words lull him into sleep.

***

Ragnar doesn’t go back to the battlefield. Not because he doesn’t want to –staying in his room without anything to do is somehow scarier than fighting with his warriors. But his wound is too serious for him to hold a sword or even a shield. Ragnar did try to pick up an axe after several days, but Bjorn had come into his room at that precise moment, still muddy and bloody, and had snatched it from him, yelling something about insanity and taking care of his back. Ragnar had been merely sitting on his bed, trying to raise the blade in front of him. The pain caused by the wound, located on his right side, had prevented it. Then Bjorn had almost pushed him back into bed, no matter how Ragnar had grumbled that after two weeks, the pain had lessened.

Looks like the son has to fight the father’s battles now.

That… incident happened a week ago, meaning that Ragnar has been concealed in his bedroom for three weeks. He won’t suffer another week like this. He is busy tying a large piece of fabric around his chest to prevent his right arm from moving when Aethelwulf pays him a visit. The prince came here every day, as well as Lagertha and Bjorn. Ragnar didn’t expect it at the beginning. Then it became a habit, their chats in his tent replaced by their chats in this hellish bedroom.

Thanks to their daily visits, Ragnar is rather well informed on what is happening outside. That is to say, on how Kwenthrith is tearing her cousin’s army to pieces, day after day. Every evening, Ragnar prays the Gods that someone will come in and say, “hey, we got these fuckers.”

Judging from Aethelwulf’s face as he comes in, his sword hanging from his belt and coated with blood, the Gods may have answered Ragnar’s prayers. The Northman stops fumbling with the fabric, hoping Aethelwulf’s grim smile is good news.

“We’re going home,” the prince declares after several seconds.

Ragnar stares at him, letting the words sink in. Home. Athelstan. Then a long sigh escapes him and Aethelwulf crosses the room to give him a firm embrace on his good side.

“We’re going home,” Aethelwulf repeats, as if to convince himself.

Ragnar can relate. He hardly manages to believe it. He thought this day would never come. Despair overwhelmed him sometimes, when he wasn’t sure Athelstan was safe, for in his own haze after he had been wounded, Ragnar had felt something unusual. A feeling strong enough to reach him when he was almost dead, lying in his own blood. He had sensed Athelstan’s fear, his agonizing pain, and had understood what had happened a few days later. When Athelstan felt what was happening to Ragnar, the shock must have been harsh enough to trigger his labour. It was too early, and it had been too long, yet Athelstan had survived. His soulmate had survived and Ragnar had good reasons to think his child had survived too. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be bursts of hope and happiness coursing through from time to time, breaking his boredom.

“Yes, we are going home,” Ragnar echoes.


	16. Chapter 16

Athelstan doesn’t see Ecbert often, whereas Torstein is almost always with him. They set up a crib next to Athelstan’s bed for the baby and a cot for Torstein. The truth is Torstein doesn’t sleep a lot in his cot, to Athelstan’s demand, and when he does, he doesn’t go in it until Athelstan falls asleep. At the beginning, Athelstan didn’t know why he wanted Torstein so close. He feared it was –unconsciously– to replace Ragnar. The guilt kept him awake for hours, which displeased Mary when she discovered the dark circles under his eyes when morning came. And one night, maybe five days after he gave birth, Athelstan understood he had misinterpreted his own feelings. He was watching Torstein pacing the room, gently rocking Dagrun in his arms when everything became clear. Besides the fact that Torstein is a dear friend, Athelstan feels safer when he is around, because he doesn’t fear for his daughter’s life when she is tucked against the Northman’s chest. He knows Torstein would protect her if anything happened.

When Ecbert visits, it is to see the baby. He seems to have some affection for her, while Athelstan expected him to hate the child, as a constant reminder of the failure of their marriage. Thanks to the baby, they even manage to talk to each other. Not much, and with a lot of reserve, but it is still better than blatant hate. At times, Ecbert looks at Athelstan like he is on the verge of saying something and seems to change his mind at the last second. Maybe Athelstan is just imagining it. Anyway, he can’t help worrying about it, so he decides to broach the subject himself the next time he sees Ecbert.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Athelstan asks.

Ecbert stops making faces at the baby and looks up at him.

“What makes you think I have something to say?”

“I’m not blind. Are you going to break your promise? Keep me and the baby here?”

Athelstan goes for a casual tone, which certainly doesn’t fool Ecbert but the king doesn’t point it out, focusing instead on Dagrun, who starts crying in his arms. Now that weeks have gone by, Athelstan could recognize the piercing wail building up in her chest amongst a hundred.

“She’s hungry,” he declares.

Indeed, the baby calms down the second she finds his nipple. Athelstan smiles down at her, yet he doesn’t forget about Ecbert.

“So?” he insists.

“It isn’t about my promise,” Ecbert sighs, glancing at the baby, then at Athelstan’s stomach. “It is about the operation the midwife practiced on you.”

Athelstan is at a loss. He was already thinking of the worse: Ecbert freeing him but keeping the baby, or anything twisted in such a way.

“She saved my life by doing this operation.”

“Yes, she did. Yet she told me this operation is risky and…”

Ecbert fidgets on his chair. Athelstan can almost see the thoughts tumbling in his head.

“You might never have children again,” Ecbert declares, plastering a neutral mask on his face. “An omega’s body is very delicate and such an operation may affect it permanently.”

Oh. Athelstan doesn’t know how to process this. It is rather bad news for an omega –he is supposed to breed after all– yet it doesn’t crush him. Perhaps it will dawn on him later.

“Why are you telling me now?” Athelstan asks, unconsciously tightening his arms around the baby. “Why do you care?”

Ecbert’s expression shifts to his political face, the one he uses to deal with complex matters.

“You need to be aware of your situation to make wise decisions. Ragnar Lothbrok wants children, above all –”

“Stop!” Athelstan exclaims, but Ecbert doesn’t listen.

“And you won’t be able to satisfy him. You could stay here.”

Athelstan’s anger changes into disbelief at a scary rate. He should have known better.

“You already have a child, it is enough for me,” Ecbert says. “I’ve done wrong things to you and I apologize. You and the child would be treated well if you chose to stay.”

Dagrun tears herself away from Athelstan’s nipple and he props her on her shoulder, focusing on his breathing to keep calm and avoid hurting her while patting her back.

“You realize,” he seethes, “that in a functional couple, you wouldn’t have to say ‘you will be treated well’ to convince the other to stay? You do, right?”

Ecbert closes his eyes for a second, maybe cursing himself for his mistake.

“I know, Athelstan. I know you have no reason to trust me. However, with all the recent events, I understood I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You lost me a long time ago.”

It is true, but throwing it at Ecbert’s face and seeing him recoil slightly as if he had slapped him still makes Athelstan feel guilty. Ecbert doesn’t hide the hurt from his face, perhaps too struck to even think about it. Athelstan takes no pleasure in it, yet he feels like Ecbert toyed with him when he thought the king was being honest.

“I should have known you were being nice on purpose,” Athelstan adds. “Anyway, what were you thinking? Ragnar is my soulmate. I may never give him another child and it is a hard blow. But we will find a way to get over it.”

“I hope so for you,” Ecbert replies, already regaining his usual composure. “If your conviction happens to waver one day, know that my offer still stands.”

What Athelstan doesn’t say is that even if he had doubts, he wouldn’t stay here.

***

It has been two months since Kwenthrith’s victory. Her cousin yielded, as well as all of her enemies. Some of Ecbert’s men already have been sent back to Wessex and there is no need for the Northmen to stay any longer. Ragnar would have left sooner with his own warriors if it had been possible. If Lagertha and Aethelwulf hadn’t opposed to it. Apparently, his wound was too deep for a journey on horseback.

It is not that Ragnar disagrees. He is aware of the pain between his shoulders, the stiffness of his muscles. But he has been in Mercia for far too long, he wants to go back to Athelstan. Sail back home.

That day finally comes. Until the last minute, Ragnar wonders if Lagertha will come back with them. When they talked about it the night before, she wasn’t sure about it. Ragnar didn’t say anything susceptible to sway her choice, even if he doubts he would ever manage to do so.

Anyway, it seems Lagertha made her decision: as he stands in the yard of the castle, stroking the neck of his horse, Ragnar can see her walking out of the castle, in deep conversation with Kwenthrith.

“Don’t you think it is a little sad that they decide to part ways?” Aethelwulf asks, appearing from behind Ragnar’s horse.

It is, in a way. Yet Kwenthrith will probably have to marry a wealthy lord or prince from her country to secure her authority fully. As for Lagertha, she may have her own reasons. She loves exploring as much as Ragnar does. He can’t picture her tied to one place.

“It doesn’t mean they will never see each other again,” Ragnar replies. “Who knows?”

Aethelwulf shrugs, absently threading his fingers into the mane of Ragnar’s horse. He arches his eyebrows when Ragnar takes the reins in one hand, turning towards the saddle.

“You aren’t planning to ride back to Wessex, are you?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Aethelwulf gestures behind him, towards a cart in which someone set up a cot and some supplies. Ragnar snorts.

“I’m not travelling in a cart.”

“Fine,” Aethelwulf replies, rolling his eyes. “But you won’t get up there on your own.”

To Ragnar’s dismay, the prince is right. Raising his arms upon the saddle causes an instantaneous pain, and Ragnar only manages to mount on his horse with the help of a soldier.

“Did you already say your goodbyes to Kwenthrith?” Ragnar asks when he is settled on his saddle.

“I did.”

Aethelwulf’s face doesn’t reveal any emotion, but it takes him a second too long to answer. Ragnar glances from him to Lagertha and Kwenthrith, then back to Aethelwulf.

“What?” the prince taunts, his mouth curling up into a grin. “My goodbyes took longer than expected, that’s all.”

“Should I assume...?”

“Assume what you wish,” Aethelwulf chirps, and yes, he seems much happier than usual.

 

When they all are on their respective horses, ready to leave, Kwenthrith approaches. She gives one last warm smile to Lagertha and Bjorn, who joined them a few minutes ago, then turns to Ragnar.

“Thank you, Ragnar Lothbrok, I owe you a lot. Please, send my regards to Athelstan. I hope both of you will be fine.”

Ragnar has no idea of how much Kwenthrith knows. None of them talked about the soul bond, but Kwenthrith might suspect something.

“Thank you, Princess. Don’t sever too many heads and you will be a good ruler.”

Kwenthrith laughs, the sound both beautiful and scary.

“I shall remember that, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Ragnar almost died for Kwenthrith’s kingdom, so he hopes she will indeed be a fine ruler. But in the end, it isn’t his problem anymore. He is on his way home.

***

It starts as a dream, one of those vivid morning dreams. Ragnar is whispering words in Athelstan’s ear, nuzzling into his dark curls. Athelstan can’t make out what Ragnar is saying, yet a pleasant warmth courses through him. As he cracks one eye open, he realises the warmth is real, just like the little shiver of pleasure running along his spine. Athelstan stays in bed for several seconds, gazing towards the window. Spring should come soon, but the morning light is still one of the cold winter months. Athelstan can make out a thin layer of ice sparkling on the glass. 

The memories of his dream start fading, unlike the warmth it created. Athelstan gasps when he realises why and rolls out of bed, almost falling when his feet tangle in the sheet. It doesn’t slow him down. He rushes to Torstein’s cot –on tiptoes as the baby’s crib is next to his bed– and kneels at the edge of the mattress, shaking the Northman. When it proves useless, as he only tears a grunt out of Torstein, Athelstan grips both of his shoulders and starts shaking him in earnest.

“Torstein! Wake up!”

How can it be that Torstein will awake from the deepest sleep as soon as Dagrun lets out a tiny whimper but won’t move an inch when Athelstan hisses in his ear?

“Torstein!”

Torstein mumbles unintelligible words, rolling on his side, one heavy arm falling upon Athelstan’s shoulders, which effectively pins him on the bed. Athelstan grunts, trying to push the arm away but Torstein just squeezes him against his side. Well. Desperate situations call for desperate measures.

“We’re under attack!”

The Northman straightens up right away, almost knocking Athelstan off the bed.

“What? Where?” Torstein asks, reaching for the dagger he always keeps next to his pillow.

“Nothing, it’s okay! Sorry, I lied.”

Torstein seems to notice Athelstan’s presence for the first time since he woke up.

“What… why are you in my bed?”

“Long story. I was trying to wake you up.”

“But we aren’t under attack?”

“No. Listen, Ragnar is back.”

Torstein’s eyes widen, a smile appearing on his lips.

“How do you know? Did the servants warn you? Come on, we have to go downstairs.”

Torstein is already on his feet, pulling Athelstan up by his hand.

“He isn’t here yet,” Athelstan laughs. “I felt it because of the soul bond.”

Torstein flops back on his bed with a fond sigh.

“So you wake me up at dawn for Ragnar’s return, even if he won’t be here until, what, the end of the day?”

Athelstan sits next to him, nudging his side.

“I thought you would share the excitement,” he grins.

“I do. I was also enjoying the excitement of a full night of sleep, without Dagrun waking up any of us.”

It is true that Dagrun’s nights tend to be hectic, to the point that Athelstan almost ordered Torstein to sleep somewhere else when he realised the Northman would get up three times during the night, if needed. When he suggested it, Torstein shook his head vehemently, so Athelstan dropped the subject. Now they just compare each other’s dark circles every morning.

“If my little monster is hungry during the night, we have to bow to her will,” Athelstan teases, unable to stop smiling. He doesn’t want to anyway, and from what he can see, Torstein can’t stop either.

“Your little monster is always hungry,” Torstein grunts. “None of Ragnar’s boys had such an appetite, and let me tell you, this means a lot.”

Athelstan doesn’t have time to reply –Dagrun starts crying as soon as Torstein stops talking.

“See?” Torstein says. “Always hungry.”

“Ooooh,” Athelstan coos as he bends over the crib to grab his already wriggling baby. “Don’t listen to the burly Northman over there, he knows how important it is to have a substantial meal.”

Dagrun stops crying when Athelstan picks her up, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. Icy blue, like Ragnar’s. He lowers his head towards her when she extends her arm to toy with his short beard, one of her favourite past time. Athelstan giggles when the tiny fingers scrape along his jaw. Dagrun wriggles her feet, letting out an enthusiastic whimper.

“Yeah, good morning, baby,” Athelstan says.

He turns back to Torstein, going still for a second when he discovers the Northman’s melancholic expression.

“Are you alright?” Athelstan asks, sitting back next to him.

Torstein waves his large hand in the air, his usual smile quickly stretching his lips.

“Yes. You’re just… Seeing both of you like this is worth every sleepless night.”

It suddenly occurs to Athelstan that Torstein may have gotten used to the domesticity, because that’s what it has become. They created their private space, almost never bothered by anyone: Ecbert’s visits are scarce, and it was always a pleasure to see Mary when she came to check on Athelstan and the baby’s health.

“You’ll always be Dagrun’s favourite nurse,” Athelstan declares. “Besides, Ragnar won’t keep you away from us.”

Athelstan doesn’t have a single doubt regarding this, just like he knows for sure that if he can’t picture his life without Ragnar, now he can’t see it without Torstein either. The Northman has been with him throughout his whole pregnancy, during the worst and the best moments. He has been there when Athelstan lost sleep after Mary told him he might never have another child, wondering how Ragnar would react. How it didn’t affect him as much as it probably should to be, as Ecbert would say, barren. They didn’t talk about it a lot, but Torstein was with him, ready to listen.

“Yes,” Torstein says after a while. “Now Ragnar will have to get up in the middle of the night, and I will have the cuddles during the day. It suits me. And you, Dagrun? Does it suit you?”

Torstein tickles her chest through the fabric wrapped around her and she arches a little, fiercely waving her arms to grab his fingers as she lets out joyful cries.

“Of course it does, as long as she isn’t hungry,” Athelstan laughs.

***

There hasn’t been so much activity in the castle for a long time, and Ecbert hasn’t even checked the kitchens. According to the men who already came back and to the envoy who confirmed it, his son and the remaining Northmen should arrive at the castle today. Bringing back victory with them, plus the promise of a strong ally now that Kwenthrith sits on the throne. However, Ecbert sometimes surprises himself thinking that as long as Aethelwulf comes back, everything is fine. He can always find a way to defeat an enemy, but he can’t replace his son. According to the various reports Ecbert received throughout the war, Aethelwulf fought well, even in the bloodiest battles. Ecbert has every reason to be happy today, yet he can’t bring himself to it, because Aethelwulf doesn’t come back alone. Ragnar Lothbrok survived his wound, no matter how serious it was.

Ecbert won’t lie, he was hoping for another outcome. One that didn’t involve Athelstan leaving. However, he gave his word and despite his desire to keep Athelstan and the baby, he knows it would be useless. You can’t keep soulmates apart. You can’t rebuild a relationship that was broken to pieces. That Ecbert himself broke to pieces, his sneaky mind provides when he keeps turning in his bed at night.

Ecbert is sitting on his throne, trying to find out what it will feel like to see Athelstan getting on the Northmen’s boat, when a servant comes in.

“They are almost here, Sire.”

“Very well. Is everything ready outside?”

“Yes, Sire.”

Ecbert dismisses the servant with one wave of his hand. He would rather have greeted the warriors without the whole ceremonial, but they won a war. His reunion with his son and his talk with Ragnar will wait a little. Ecbert goes to the window and stays there until he can see the dark line formed by the thousands of soldiers approaching the castle. When they are close enough, he goes into the yard and stands in front of the seat prepared for him. He is too restless to sit. Athelstan isn’t long to follow, accompanied by Torstein, and yes, Ecbert is slightly bitter when he realises that for once, he isn’t late. Athelstan is wearing a heavy cloak, which almost completely covers the baby cradled close to his chest.

Ecbert spots Aethelwulf right before his son enters the yard, trotting towards them with a wide smile. The Northmen leaders are close behind, at a slower pace. Aethelwulf dismounts his horse with more grace than you would expect for someone who has been travelling all day, and his smile never leaves his face as he crosses the distance separating him from Ecbert. He has a slight limp and a scar mars his beard, but otherwise he seems fine. The way he crushes Ecbert against his chest destroys any remaining doubt regarding his health.

“I bring you good news, Father,” Aethelwulf declares when they part.

“From what I heard, I would rather say excellent news,” Ecbert replies.

They leave it at that for now, they will have all the time they need to talk in private. Ecbert has a speech to make, for the soldiers and his people. He accomplishes his task quickly –most are tired and only want to end the day with their families. As soon as Ecbert is done saying how proud he his of his troupes and how their sacrifice strengthened Wessex’s power, Aethelwulf goes to Athelstan’s side. They don’t speak too loud, yet Ecbert can hear them, even with everyone starting to move around the yard.

“Athelstan! I was dying to see you,” Aethelwulf exclaims. “Oh, who do we have here?”

Ecbert doesn’t need to look to confirm that Aethelwulf is grinning at the baby.

“Oh God, it is Tiny you, Athelstan,” Aethelwulf adds. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A girl. Look Dagrun, it is Aethelwulf.”

“She is beautiful. You can be sure I will try to steal her from you as soon as I am out of these dirty clothes.”

“Don’t you need to see our physician? You were hurt,” Athelstan replies, glancing at Aethelwulf’s leg. Ecbert’s heart clenches when he hears his concerned tone.

“Don’t worry about me, it is nothing serious.”

They keep talking a little longer about the battles and the baby, until Athelstan’s eyes drift to the Northmen, who are dismounting their horses one by one. Ecbert follows his gaze and ends up staring at Ragnar. It would be petty to be satisfied by the way the Northman can’t hide his wince when his feet touch the ground, or how his left arm instinctively flings to hold his right shoulder. Ragnar stares back at Athelstan, who in turns glances at Ecbert. He doesn’t want to be petty today, so he nods at Athelstan, once. His people will know Athelstan and Ragnar are soulmates when they leave together. It isn’t worth hiding it anymore.

Athelstan nods back and excuses himself to Aethelwulf before crossing the yard. The Northman steps forward to meet him halfway, and this is when Ecbert decides he has seen enough.

***

Athelstan doesn’t know how far he is allowed to push this, but the thought disappears the second Ragnar closes his arms around him. Athelstan angles his body in a way that will prevent the baby from being crushed between them before he lets himself enjoy Ragnar’s embrace. They can’t say anything for a long time. They don’t need to. Athelstan felt the excitement build up in his chest all day and he thought his heart was going to tear its way out of his chest when he met Ragnar’s eyes. Ragnar doesn’t need to speak to tell Athelstan he felt the same –he couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. Ragnar’s little gasp when his arms tightened around Athelstan’s shoulders is revealing enough.

“It is your daughter,” Athelstan finally breathes in his ear.

They part just enough for Ragnar to see the baby, wide awake in Athelstan’s arms. Ragnar ghosts his fingers above her cheeks, as if he didn’t dare touching her.

“I named her Dagrun. But we can change the name if you’d rather…”

“No,” Ragnar interrupts, eyes glued to the child. “It is perfect. She is perfect.”

The words would be enough for Athelstan, but he can feel the way Ragnar’s heart swells with pride, doesn’t miss the look the Northman gives him, which says ‘Just like you’. He can’t wait to be in his bedroom with Ragnar, to see him holding Dagrun and to talk until both of their mouths are dry. The wait seems endless.

They don’t stay alone in the middle of the yard for long. Athelstan has to admit that he can’t repress a pang of fear when Lagertha and Bjorn come closer. Bjorn is Ragnar’s first son, and Lagertha probably the great love of his life, so Athelstan won’t deny he is afraid of what they might say. Ragnar squeezes his arm at the same time Lagertha discovers the baby. Her tired features lighten all at once.

“It’s my daughter,” Ragnar declares, his tone swelling with pride.

“A little sister,” Bjorn whispers, craning his neck to see the baby.

Dagrun’s eyes shift from one face to another until she extends her fingers towards Lagertha’s long curls, letting out an appreciative “Ah!”. Athelstan has a hard time containing his sigh of relief when the three Northmen chuckle.

“She already has all of you wrapped around her thumb,” Torstein says from behind them.

Athelstan hadn’t noticed him, with the movement and noise created by the soldiers unsaddling their horses, the wounded ones being carried to the infirmary.

“It took you some time to come back,” the Northman adds. “We were getting worried here.”

Somehow, Ragnar manages to give him a strong embrace without letting go of Athelstan. Maybe Athelstan wasn’t supposed to hear it, but he doesn’t miss the quiet “Thank you, my friend,” Ragnar whispers into Torstein’s ear.

Athelstan could stay there all night, watching the Northmen as they reunite, exchanging jokes in a weary tone but with a sincere pleasure to see each other again. However, Dagrun doesn’t seem to agree. Soon she starts twisting against Athelstan, her cries getting louder with every new intake of breath.

“I should go,” Athelstan tells them. “She is hungry.”

“I will go with you,” Ragnar decides.

Athelstan doesn’t have time to worry about what Ecbert is going to say –Ragnar puts a reassuring arm around his shoulders, whispering to Dagrun as they go back to the castle. Athelstan glances at Ecbert when they pass next to him, but the king doesn’t say anything, and his face doesn’t betray any emotion, so it should be fine. Athelstan looks up at Ragnar, who plants a long, sloppy kiss somewhere on the crown of his head, and they head for the bedroom.


	17. Chapter 17

Ragnar keeps pressing chaste kisses upon Athelstan’s head until they reach the bedroom, where he would love taking this into a less chaste situation, but the baby has other plans. Anyway, it is wiser to prevent any strain on his back. Besides, Ragnar doesn’t have enough energy to do anything other than flopping on the bed and watching as Athelstan does the same, pushing the cloak off of his shoulders to open his robe. Their daughter doesn’t waste a single second to latch onto the swollen nipple.

“I feared you would die,” Ragnar says after a long time.

“I could tell you the same. It was awful.”

Athelstan last words are barely above a whisper, so low Ragnar almost doesn’t hear him. He keeps looking from Athelstan’s peaceful face to the baby, until he is done feeding her. Then Athelstan shuffles to raise himself on his knees, grinning.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Ragnar’s heart leaps into his chest, just like it did every time he held his newborn children for the first time. Yes. He wants to keep her close in one arm and Athelstan in the other, and never let them go. On the other hand, she is so small. Healthy and vigorous, but so fragile. It doesn’t help that she starts screaming angrily, leaving the warmth of Athelstan’s body when he gives her to Ragnar.

“Oh, no,” Ragnar protests, but Athelstan only smiles again, “she is displeased. Maybe we should wait…”

Athelstan presses her gently in the crook of Ragnar’s arm, stroking her forehead.

“Don’t worry, she is a very expressive baby. It’s your father, Dagrun.”

Her name rolls beautifully on Athelstan’s tongue. At last she calms down, her icy eyes fixed on Ragnar’s face until they drift to his bread, dangling on his shoulder. She extends her arm, clumsily trying to grab his hair. Ragnar half expects Dagrun to cry when she fails, but it seems to stimulate her, as she vigorously starts fidgeting, her arms sometimes hitting Ragnar’s chest.

“She is full of life,” Ragnar beams, dragging his braid closer to her, so that she can clasp a few curls. “When you gave birth… I wasn’t conscious of everything going on, but I felt your pain. I thought I would lose both of you.”

Athelstan chews on his lower lip, avoiding Ragnar’s gaze.

“It was complicated. Thank God, we have a wonderful midwife.”

Ragnar wants to ask more, because it is obvious there is more, yet Athelstan avoids his eyes again. They will have time later for whatever they have to tell each other. It is Dagrun who saves them from an awkward silence, as she opens her mouth in a tiny yawn that is much more adorable than any yawn should be. They exchange a fond look and wait until she is asleep to put her into her crib. Then Ragnar can finally press Athelstan against him as they tumble on the bed, laying on the thick fur Ragnar left for him.

“I’m glad to see you found some use for the fur,” Ragnar mumbles against Athelstan’s lips.

They lay there in silence for a long time, listening to each other’s breathing while Athelstan strokes Ragnar’s ankle with his toes.

“Did you lose many men in Mercia?” Athelstan asks after what feels like an hour.

 

“Some of them, yes. Not as much as I feared though. A few decided to stay and to work for Kwenthrith as mercenaries. Thankfully, we are still enough to row our boats back home.”

They both chuckle until they hear Dagrun stirring and whimpering in her sleep.

“Shh,” Athelstan urges, pressing his palm on Ragnar’s mouth, but a wide smile stretches his lips despite the reprimand. “You don’t want to awake her, trust me.”

Ragnar nods and peels Athelstan’s hand away, inching closer to him. He is so exhausted he can’t sleep, and now that Athelstan is finally back in his arms, it would be a shame to give in to sleep so fast anyway. Ragnar presses a tender kiss on Athelstan’s lips, which feel extra soft under his own chapped lips, roughened by the wind.

“Do you want to leave England?” Ragnar asks, anxious despite himself.

“What? Of course, why?”

Athelstan draws back, studying Ragnar’s face like he expects him to announce some horrible news. Ragnar feels him tensing, under his hands and in his heart. He starts stroking Athelstan’s nape, trying to smile reassuringly.

 

“Nothing, I just want you to know you have a choice. It is fine if you don’t want to leave your country.”

Ragnar may be lying a little. It isn’t fine if Athelstan wants to stay, because Ragnar will have to leave at one time or another, but if Athelstan wants to stay, he could convince Aslaug to live here too. Although this might not be the best solution to their problem.

Athelstan looks at him for a long time before answering, perhaps while he tries to sense if Ragnar is having doubts.

“I will miss some things here,” he replies carefully. “I will miss Aethelwulf, for sure. Yet I made my choice a long time ago. My life isn’t here anymore.”

“Then we will set sails as soon as we can.”

***

A month after their return to Wessex, the Northmen are ready to leave. The weather is bright and the sea looks good –their journey should be safe. Not that Ecbert cares if some ships happen to sink. He would quite like seeing Ragnar’s ship at the bottom of the sea, if Athelstan weren’t sharing said ship.

Ecbert had hoped Athelstan would change his mind; he even tried to reason him, arguing that such a journey with a four-month-old baby isn’t very wise. Athelstan had just glared in return.

At least he isn’t glaring today, as they face each other on the shore. They are going to set sails anytime now. Ecbert can spot Ragnar Lothbrok on one boat, keeping a careful on Athelstan while he takes a ridiculous amount of time to secure his shield on the ship’s rail. Ecbert shrugs, turning his attention back to Athelstan, who is busy hugging Aethelwulf with one arm, the other keeping Dagrun safe against him. He already looks different from the young man Ecbert has always known: he got rid of the intricate braids, choosing a loose ponytail instead, and he traded his robe for Norse clothes. And well, the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles is new too.

“I will miss you,” Athelstan tells Aethelwulf, his words muffled since his face is still buried against Aethelwulf’s neck. “I wish you could come with us.”

Ecbert has to listen carefully to hear these last words. He glances around, leaving them the privacy Athelstan probably wants. Without meaning to, he finds himself staring at King Horik, who is busy ordering his men around on his boat. Saying Ecbert is glad to see him go away would be a nice euphemism: he is thrilled to see Horik far from Wessex. The King may have revealed him the truth about Athelstan and Ragnar, but dealing with a man who betrayed his ally? He dislikes Ecbert even more than he dislikes Ragnar. It could be fun to see how long it would take Horik to betray Ecbert, but he isn’t interested. Which is why he advised Horik to leave with his fellow Northmen.

Ecbert doesn’t realise Athelstan is standing in front of him until he hears him clearing his throat. Athelstan parts his lips when Ecbert looks at him, but no words come out. Of course their goodbyes would be awkward, they are not likely to give each other warm hugs and pats on the back. For once, Ecbert doesn’t know what to say. I will miss you? He isn’t even sure if he will miss Athelstan, or rather the fact that he had a mate. Should he apologize? Out of the question. Ecbert only did what he had to do; he –almost– never doubts that.

“Good luck,” he declares, since that seems to be the most appropriate. “For the travel and… what lies ahead of you. Take good care of your daughter.”

Yes, Ecbert knows he will miss the little girl, with her toothless smile and the clumsy waving of her arms when she is happy.

“I will. Goodbye then.”

They nod at each other and Athelstan turns towards the sea, stopping after a few steps to turn back to Ecbert.

“I know you don’t care about my opinions,” Athelstan says, “but I want you to know that I don’t resent you.”

Ecbert doesn’t move. Athlestan stares at him for a few more seconds, perhaps expecting to say something, before smiling and heading for the boats, not stopping once this time.

***

As he steps on the boat, Athelstan is torn between the sadness of maybe never seeing Aethelwulf again and the urge to bounce around the boat because, long story short, he is travelling again. For now, he doesn’t think about what awaits him, like Aslaug’s reaction to his arrival. She seems to be a gentle woman, from what Ragnar said, however Athelstan fears she might become less gentle if she feels threatened by his presence. He prays she won’t. He doesn’t want to take anyone’s place.

Athelstan’s breathing quickens as the boat leaves the shore. He waves to Aethelwulf, who waves back with a sad smile, and doesn’t turn away until Ecbert and Aethelwulf become tiny black dots. Athelstan sighs, leaning back into Ragnar, who stayed behind him the whole time. Ragnar circles Athelstan’s waist with his arms, idly stroking his hip through his tunic.

“Ready for your new life?” Ragnar asks, biting the shell of his ear.

Athelstan would love sounding firm and confident as he answers, but somehow he loses that spirit along the way.

“Yes?”

Ragnar chuckles, the low rumble in his throat eliciting a joyful mewl from Dagrun.

“You will be fine,” he assures, and Athelstan wishes his confidence were contagious. “Can I hold her?”

Athelstan slides Dagrun into Ragnar’s arms, cautious with every move and half expecting a scream. Nothing comes except from her excited wriggling, which is tame considering the amount of fabric and fur Athelstan wrapped around her to protect her from the wind. Ragnar slides down to sit cross-legged as he babbles to Dagrun. Athelstan can lose himself into the contemplation of the sea without fearing of dropping her. It is quite an intense relief. When he is sure Dagrun doesn’t need him –yes, the ship isn’t that big, but you never know– he wanders to the other side of the deck, where Torstein is checking the ropes tying the sail. The Northman greets him with a huge smile, as if they hadn’t spoken to each other for months. Objectively, it would be more like less than an hour.

“So you decided to let Ragnar in full autonomy?” Torstein says, nodding to where Ragnar is sitting, busy dangling his braid above Dagrun. From where they are standing, they can only see two little hands waving above the bundle of fabric.

“I’m keeping an eye on them,” Athelstan replies with the same light tone.

“Did you tell him about… you know…”

Torstein makes a vague gesture towards Athelstan’s stomach. He doesn’t need him to be clearer to understand what the Northman is referring to.

“Not yet. I didn’t find the right moment.”

If he keeps going like this, he will never find a right moment. But Ragnar will find out, one way or another. It is just another thing on the long list of things stressing Athelstan.

“He won’t resent you, you know,” Torstein says, lowering his voice to make sure no one hears them. “I can see why you would have trust issues, but…he isn’t Ecbert.”

Torstein looks so embarrassed that Athelstan wants to hug him. It would be strange though if the other warriors saw him hugging Torstein out of nowhere, so he just bumps their shoulders together, like they use to do whenever one of them needs comfort.

“I know, don’t worry. I think I need time myself, that’s all.”

At least, Athelstan can forget about it until they reach land. Or that’s what he thought, since he is proven wrong as soon as night falls upon them.

Athelstan settles with Dagrun in a less crowded part of the ship, where a makeshift tent protects the baby. The large basket Athelstan put her in may be deep enough to shield her from the wind but he isn’t taking any risk. Unfortunately, even with the calm sea, anxiety keeps him awake.

“She is safe,” Ragnar whispers as he lies down behind Athelstan, curling up around him. “I will watch over her while you sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Maybe I could help…”

Ragnar’s hot breath tickles his nape as he slides his palm along Athelstan’s thigh. He can’t repress the shiver running through his body. It has been so long. Ragnar moves his hand to Athelstan’s waist, unbuckles the large belt he gave him, which pools on the deck with a sharp noise. Athelstan tenses. They could wake up both the baby and the men.

“Someone could hear us,” he whispers, craning his head back towards Ragnar. “Dagrun is just next to me.”

“Most of the men are asleep; those who aren’t are too busy talking about what they’ll do once we’re home to pay attention to us.”

Athelstan shudders as Ragnar’s hand sneaks under his tunic and along his side, a quite “yes” escaping his lips. He has no willpower. Not an ounce. However, he has enough common sense to remember he must keep Ragnar’s hand away from his stomach. Away from his scar.

Without knowing, Ragnar may be giving him a perfect opportunity.

“I see you baring your nipples all day long,” he growls low in Athelstan’s ear, “and I’m not even allowed to touch.”

Athelstan takes a sharp intake of breath as he grips Ragnar’s hand through his tunic, guiding it the best he can towards his chest. Ragnar doesn’t need much guiding; soon his fingers clasp down on one swollen nub. He alternates between tweaking it and massaging the small breast. Pleasure courses through Athelstan, fortunately not enough to make him hard. That’s for the better, because if he were to come now, he would be much too loud. However, the steady pleasure lulling him to sleep is perfect.

“Hold me tight,” he tells Ragnar, who obeys, clenching his arms around his chest. “Tighter.”

Athelstan closes his eyes, concentrating on the feeling Ragnar’s fingers provides, relieving the pressure in him. The Northman plants sloppy kisses on his collarbone while he starts a slow rutting against Athelstan’s backside, more or less consciously. It is way too slow and erratic to bring him to completion, but considering that Ragnar puts all of his attention into his kisses and massages, it probably doesn’t bother him. They keep going until Athelstan feels sleep taking over and turns in Ragnar’s arms to bury himself in his chest.

***

When the dreaded day of their arrival comes, Athelstan wishes he could stay on the boat. Forever. It could work –Dagrun likes the sea and she didn’t even get sick during their travel. It could totally work.

“This is Kattegat,” Ragnar informs him, pointing at the shore, where dozens of villagers are already gathered. Soon they will be close enough for Athelstan to see their faces. He is going to be sick.

“Are you alright? You’re quite pale,” Torstein points out, appearing on Athelstan’s other side.

Even flanked by two huge Northmen, he isn’t sure he can step out of this boat.

“You aren’t going to throw up now, are you?” Torstein adds. He has his teasing smile on, yet there is real concern in his tone.

Athelstan shakes his head, clutching Dagrun tighter. He can see the villagers’ faces now, and he backs away to leave the Northmen some room as they throw ropes to the men gathered on the wooden jetty. Then he backs away a little more to let them get off the deck and join their waiting families and friends. Athelstan remains frozen on spot, watching their faces lighten with happiness, listening to their cheerful bustle. Most of the villagers don’t notice him, but those who do cast him interested looks.

“You will be fine,” Ragnar tells him. Athelstan hadn’t realised he had come to stand by his side.

The boat is almost empty now, and more and more faces turn towards them. Of course, the Earl isn’t supposed to get off the boat last. While trying to go unnoticed, Athelstan only managed to draw the attention to himself, because the villagers start whispering, glancing at Dagrun.

Ragnar pushes him forward gently and they join the others side by side. Athelstan’s cheeks are burning as he scans through the crowd. It is not that the people seem hostile –they look curious more than anything– he just hates having everyone studying him. As the crowd parts around them, one woman in particular catches Athelstan’s eye. He knows it is Aslaug. She stands tall and proud with her boys around her. She is gorgeous.

The two boys run into Ragnar’s arms with cheerful shouts and he crouches to hug them, looking as relaxed as ever. Then Aslaug comes closer, holding a baby too. Ivar, if Athelstan remembers correctly what Torstein told him. He must be around three years old. Ivar only has eyes for his father; wide, interrogative eyes. Perhaps he doesn’t even remember Ragnar. Because Ragnar spent almost two years with Athelstan. Just like her son, Aslaug doesn’t look away from Ragnar and after a few seconds, Athelstan realises she hasn’t noticed him. She has no idea what his presence means, otherwise she wouldn’t be greeting Ragnar with such a warm, happy smile.

At least, when Ragnar disentangles himself from his sons, he has the decency to look embarrassed, which Aslaug doesn’t fail to notice.

“I missed you,” he tells her. “Come, we must talk.”

She frowns, and Athelstan would gladly follow them from afar as they make their way towards the village, but Ragnar presses his hand at the small of his back to keep him by his side. Athelstan risks a glance at Aslaug, whose frown deepens. Ragnar leads them to what must be the great hall, if Athelstan’s memories from his travels are correct. Once inside, they head for a more private space, which is how they end up in a bedroom. The bedroom Ragnar shares with Aslaug. This isn’t awkward.

“Boys, go see Torstein. We brought back some presents for you,” Ragnar tells Ubbe and Hvitserk. They run out of the room so fast Athelstan would have missed it if he had blinked. “Athelstan, this is Aslaug. Aslaug, this is Athelstan, my…”

Aslaug arches an eyebrow, glancing from Athelstan to Ragnar, who can’t get the word out. They should have planned this.

“Your what?”

“His soulmate,” Athelstan provides. He aimed for a gentle tone but he only sounds like a scared child.

Aslaug goes from suspicious to hurt within seconds. She takes a step back, pushing away Ragnar’s hand when he reaches out for her. Athelstan hopes he could disappear into the ground.

“This baby he is holding… Is it yours?” Aslaug asks.

“Yes. It is our daughter. It will take some time for all of us to adjust, but it doesn’t change anything for you.”

Ragnar tries to put his hand on Aslaug’s shoulder, but she holds one hand up to stop him, turning her head away. Athelstan looks away, focusing on Dagrun. He knows what Aslaug is doing: she is trying not to cry in front of them.

“You don’t understand,” she says eventually. “It changes everything.”

She storms out of the room, not sparing a glance to any of them. Ragnar sags on the bed, burying his head in his palms with a sigh. Thanks to the soulbond, Athelstan knows he is much more affected than it seems.

“I’m going to leave you alone for a while,” Athelstan decides. “It is her room after all, I should be the one leaving.”

Ragnar springs off the bed to wrap his arms around him. Athelstan won’t deny he needs the reassuring gesture.

“Athelstan, according to our rules… you don’t need to go away. A soulmate is more important than a wife or husband. You would be in your good right if you decided to sleep into this very bed.”

Athelstan feels sick. This is everything he doesn’t want.

“I would rather sleep in a barn than push Aslaug out of her own bed,” he hisses. “How can you think I would do that?”

Maybe it is the tension in his muscles or the raising of his voice, but Dagrun chooses this exact moment to start crying.

“Shh, it is alright little girl. Don’t cry.”

He rocks her gently, hoping it will calm her soon. Ragnar shifts to leave him some space, yet he keeps one hand on his neck, massaging the skin with his thumb.

“Athelstan, I know you would never ask for this. That’s one of the reasons I love you,” Ragnar whispers. “You just need to know about it, so that you can understand how people are going to react around you.”

“But Aslaug…”

“Needs time. She will understand.”

Athelstan isn’t so convinced, but he can feel that Ragnar doesn’t have a single doubt. He nods, pressing a kiss on Dagrun’s head and wiping her tears. Her crying already subsided to a quiet sobbing.

“Let’s go,” Ragnar says with a grin. “You have a lot of people to meet.”


	18. Chapter 18

As it turns out, the people don’t hate Athelstan, except maybe Rollo, who doesn’t bother hiding his wariness. They are intrigued and sometimes they laugh at his accent, but there is no outward rejection. Being Ragnar Lothbrok’s soulmate may help with that. On the other hand, with Aslaug, it is more complicated. Athelstan is afraid to talk to her and she is embarrassed whenever he is around, despite Ragnar’s –poor– attempts to create a relaxed atmosphere.

Fortunately, Lagertha decided to stay with them for a while. Seeing how easy it seems for her and Aslaug to spend time together –given their history– leads Athelstan to believe they will find a balance too, with enough time. Aslaug and he only met five days ago; they have time.

He is busy considering how to say this to Aslaug, because they didn’t have an actual talk yet, when he hears a light shuffle near the open door of his bedroom. Being turned away from the door, Athelstan can’t check who is there, yet considering it is the middle of the afternoon, it is probably Ubbe. The boy often comes to play with Dagrun in the afternoon, as much as it is possible with such a young baby. In fact, playing means that Ubbe tells Dagrun stories about the Norse gods, or explains how he is going to teach her how to use an axe when she is old enough, while making accompanying mimics. It warms Athelstan’s heart to see how easily the boy accepted her.

Except now, he is feeding Dagrun, so their little ritual will have to wait for a few minutes.

“Come in Ubbe,” Athelstan says nonetheless, unable to keep the smile off his voice.

His smile drops when he hears a soft laugh, which isn’t Ubbe’s.

“Princess,” he exclaims, turning around on the bed. “I… uh…”

Athelstan looks down at himself and feels ridiculous, sitting here almost bare-chest with his hair askew, in front of a woman who looks royal.

“Don’t worry, I know how it is,” the princess replies with a forced smile. She glances around the room, then sits beside him on the bed. “Your room is very small. We could find a better place.”

They chose this room on their first evening, planning to find a large one later.

“I quite like this room, Princess,” Athelstan babbles. “I like small spaces and… yes, I like it.”

“Call me Aslaug. We’re going to spend a lot of time together, so…”

A small silence settles, and Athelstan must speak soon otherwise he will never manage to utter a single word.

“About that, I’m not here to take your place,” he blurts. “I know Ragnar loves you, I am not trying to put myself between you two. Even though it is what it looks like… it just happened.”

Oh God, it is getting worse with every new sentence leaving his mouth.

“I know what you mean. I have been in your place, once. I only wish no one is going to leave this time.”

“I wish for the same.”

They exchange a quick glance, both knowing they don’t need to say anything else. Aslaug’s smile is even a bit more natural, and it turns genuine when Dagrun releases Athelstan’s nipple with a satisfied grunt.

“She is a beautiful baby,” Aslaug declares as Athelstan props Dagrun on his shoulder. “It is good that we finally have a little girl in this household.”

“Yes… oh, be careful, she has a weird fascination for hair.”

Aslaug laughs as Dagrun wriggles on Athelstan’s shoulder, trying to grab one of the princess’ long locks. Athelstan could get used to this domesticity. He would love getting used to this.

***

They find their balance, day after day. Ragnar strives to spend an equal amount of time with Aslaug and Athelstan, which includes the nights. It isn’t a problem. Athelstan isn’t against sharing. Not that sharing is easy –something twists inside of him each time he sees Ragnar kissing Aslaug or stroking her hair. At least the bond makes it useless to talk about it and Ragnar stops doing so in front of Athelstan after two or three times, easing Athelstan’s discomfort. 

Regarding the nights, it would suit him if Ragnar could spend more of them with Aslaug, for now. He still hasn’t managed to talk to Ragnar about his problem. It becomes difficult to avoid any physical contact that could involve nakedness. First because Ragnar will suspect something soon and second because… well, Athelstan could do with some naked contact.

After ten days, Ragnar comes to find him one afternoon, while Ubbe is trying to get Dagrun to say her first word. Athelstan doesn’t have the heart to tell him it is too early for that.

“Maybe we could go for a walk,” Ragnar tells Athelstan after watching them for a while.

“I would love to but I can’t leave her alone.”

“Siggy will take care of her. We have plenty of women to take care of her. She will be safe.”

“We won’t be gone for too long?”

“Promise.”

A break could be nice. Besides, Dagrun will be with Siggy and Aslaug, so there is really nothing to fear. Yet it is still heartbreaking to hear the baby screaming when he leaves her in Siggy’s arms.

“Maybe we should not…” Athelstan starts, but Siggy shakes her head with a smile.

“It will pass,” she assures him. “Look Dagrun, Ivar is here.”

That doesn’t seem to have much effect. Siggy’s curls however… they are quick to catch Dagrun’s interest.

“Time to go,” Ragnar says, almost lifting Athelstan off the ground as he turns him towards the exit. “Don’t worry, she will forgive us.”

They don’t hear any more crying as they leave, and Athelstan catches a light chuckle, so yes, maybe he should stop worrying for ten minutes.

They walk outside out Kattegat, climbing on a steep part of the forest. Athelstan has never been there. Not that he has been to many places yet, for that matter. He is out of breath when they stop, but it is worth the sight: they can see most of Kattegat from where they stand. Ragnar plasters himself against his back, resting his chin on Athelstan’s shoulder.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Athelstan nods, still trying to slow down his breathing. God, they’ve been walking for only ten minutes.

“I didn’t bring you here just for the view,” Ragnar adds. If it weren’t for the bond, Athelstan wouldn’t notice the anxiety rising in the Northman. “King Horik is going to pay us a visit in a few days.”

“King Horik? Why?”

“Allies visit each other sometimes. To plan future raids.”

Sure. Athelstan isn’t going to buy that.

“I am not convinced Horik is on your side.”

Ragnar chuckles, moving behind him to place a light bite on his nape.

“I’m not convinced about it either. That’s why we are here.”

Ragnar turns Athelstan around in his arms, cupping his face with both hands as if to make sure he has all his attention. It is useless –Athelstan is already all ears.

“If anything goes wrong while Horik is in Kattegat, I want you to take Dagrun and hide here,” Ragnar says very slowly. “I told the same to Aslaug. No one will find you –it is hard to find this path when you don’t already know it.”

“Are you planning something?”

Athelstan feels rather than sees Ragnar’s resolution waver for the first time.

“I can’t tell you. But promise me you will come here for safety. Promise me you won’t do anything other than that, whatever happens.”

Ragnar’s voice shakes on his last words, as his fingers tighten on Athelstan’s face. Athelstan wants to argue, to protest that he will stay by his side. Yet he isn’t a fighter, he wouldn’t be of any use, and he must protect Dagrun. So he has only one thing to say.

“I promise.”

Ragnar answers him with a grim smile, followed by a heated kiss. They haven’t kissed like this for a long time: they didn’t spend too much time together in Wessex before they left, just in case it could push Ecbert to change his mind. Ragnar wouldn’t have been opposed to such displays of affection on the boat, but with all the other Northmen around? No. Here no one can see them or hear them. It would be perfect if it weren’t for one small detail…

“Wait,” Athelstan says as Ragnar’s hand slide down his back.

The silent question is obvious in Ragnar’s eyes. Athelstan takes one of his hands and brings it on his stomach, riling up his tunic so that Ragnar’s hand can slide on his skin. Ragnar grins, cocking his head, until Athelstan pushes his hand lower. Until it reaches the thin scar across his lower stomach. For now Athelstan can only sense Ragnar’s perplexity and disbelief. Soon he will know if Ragnar is just like Ecbert described him.

A shiver courses through his body as Ragnar follows the scar line with his calloused fingers. At this instant, Athelstan curses their soul bond. Knowing that Ragnar will be disappointed –or worse– when he explains what this means is one thing, feeling it is wholly different.

“What is it?” Ragnar mutters, most to himself, as he kneels in front of Athelstan to get a better look, slightly tugging down the front of his pants.

Athelstan closes his eyes, swallowing before he answers.

“It happened when I gave birth. It didn’t went well and… Both Dagrun and I would be dead if the midwife hadn’t done this.”

He gasps, eyes flying open, when Ragnar’s lips touch the scarred tissue with fervour. His hands settle on Ragnar’s head on their own accord, fingers burying in his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ragnar whispers against his skin.

“This scar implies that… I may never have children again. Having children is important to you. I couldn’t tell you.”

Athelstan hates that his voice is shaking, that his tone is close to begging.

“I know what the scar implies. Athelstan, having you is important to me, with or without children.”

No disappointment. Only concern. Athelstan doesn’t quite releases the breath he is holding though.

“But what if… what if it turns out I am not barren, and I still don’t want children?”

He had to say it, because in the end, that is what has been really troubling him, that is why he hasn’t been crushed by the news. It took him some time to come to this conclusion, but he is happy with Dagrun. He is happy to have her and Ragnar. He doesn’t need –doesn’t want– more.

“I know as an omega I am supposed to be giving you sons and daughters,” Athelstan adds before Ragnar interrupts him, before his own will weakens. “Yet I don’t want to. I love Dagrun, that’s not the issue, but I don’t want another child.”

There. He said it. Now he just has to wait until Ragnar starts speaking or moving again, something he hasn’t done for at least thirty seconds. Not even blinking. Then Ragnar presses his lips again on Athelstan’s stomach, and he can finally breathe.

“I would respect your wish,” Ragnar declares "I'm quite sure Floki could find some plants to suppress your heats, if you ever have heats again."

It wouldn’t be easy, they are both aware of it, but it is the answer Athelstan wanted. The answer Ecbert wouldn’t have given him. Ragnar’s hands distract him from his thoughts, sneaking up to grab his hips as Ragnar mouths against the tender skin of his stomach. It makes him half-hard already. Of course, Ragnar doesn’t fail to notice it and he grins as he tugs Athelstan’s pants down, leaving them mid-thigh while he kisses his way to the base of Athelstan’s cock. They both pretend they don’t hear Athelstan’s squeak when Ragnar presses a kiss on his cock.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ragnar replies, wrapping his fingers around Athelstan’s shaft, stroking him at a slow pace.

“I don’t kno… oh!”

His trail of thoughts stops as a wet heat engulfs him, and it takes Athelstan a few seconds to realise that’s because Ragnar’s mouth is on him. This… is an innovation. A nice one. So nice Athelstan struggles to avoid thrusting into Ragnar’s mouth and to stay on his feet. That proves to be a challenge when Ragnar swirls his tongue around his cock, one finger teasing his entrance at the same time.

“Stop, I’m going to…”

Ragnar pulls back with a smirk, his pupils blown wide. He stumbles on his feet, pushing Athelstan until his back hits a tree, half lifting him so that he doesn’t trip with his pants still around his legs. Ragnar gets rid of them quickly while Athelstan takes off his tunic, doing the same with Ragnar’s a second later. He lets his hands roam along Ragnar’s back, then wraps his legs around his waist as the Northman pulls him up. Being cradled between the trunk and Ragnar’s body is an incredible turn-on. For both of them, if the bulge Athelstan feels through Ragnar’s pants is any indication.

Ragnar fumbles in one pocket, taking out a little jar, which he uncaps with one hand. Athelstan smirks against his skin, nipping at the Northman’s collarbone. He wraps his arms around Ragnar’s neck, holding himself long enough for Ragnar to pour some oil on his fingers.

Ragnar takes his time preparing him, during which Athelstan often scorches his skin against the bark when he bucks a little too wildly. He couldn’t care less.

“Please,” Ragnar pants after they exchange a heated kiss –and how can he dare panting? He isn’t the one being stretched and teased at an agonizing pace. “Don’t ever be afraid of telling me something. No matter how serious you think it is.”

Athelstan is tempted to seal their lips together again, just to shut him up.

“Do you really want to talk about this now?” he asks between gritted teeth. “With your fingers inside my –ah!”

Ragnar angles his fingers in a new way, causing Athelstan’s mind to go blank for a blessed second. Athelstan rakes his nails down his shoulders in retaliation, stopping only when they meet the scarred tissue left by Ragnar’s wound. Athelstan hadn’t been able to stifle a gasp when he saw it the first time.

“I’m just saying,” Ragnar counters, twisting his fingers again.

He withdraws his hand to open his pants, and the thorough preparation means he can thrust in almost in one go. The stretching burns with a perfect balance of pleasure and pain. Athelstan whines as Ragnar presses him more against the tree, not thrusting yet but buried deep inside of him. This is so much worth the wait.

“Don’t put too much strain on your back,” Athelstan advises, pressing his forehead against Ragnar’s. “I’m just saying.”

“Are you challenging me?”

Athelstan grins. He doesn’t need to speak, he only tightens around Ragnar’s cock, rocking forward. Ragnar’s answering thrust is powerful enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He settles on a fast, rough pace that will definitely leave scratches on Athelstan’s back, where the skin presses on the bark. As much as Athelstan wants this moment to last, he is also eager for release and he can’t fight the urge to wrap his fingers around his cock, already squeezed between their chests.

“Come for me,” Ragnar growls in his ear. “My Athelstan.”

Yes, he is Ragnar’s. As much as Ragnar is his. That thought alone makes him shudder, almost pushes him over the edge.

“I’m not fully yours… if. If you don’t mark me.”

If he weren’t panting so much, he would laugh at how fast Ragnar ducks his head to sink his teeth into his shoulder. He leaves a trail of bites along his collarbone, stopping at the base of Athelstan’s throat before digging his teeth deep enough to leave a mark. That, added to the sharp thrusts, is what Athelstan needed. With one more stroke on his cock, his whole body jerks forward and come splatters their chests.

Athelstan goes pliant, unable to straighten up against the tree. He only lifts his head off Ragnar’s shoulder when the Northman starts pulling out of him.

“You’re not done,” he protests, still fighting to catch his breath.

“You’re going to be too sensitive.”

“I can handle it. Please. I want you to stay in me.”

Athelstan could swear he feels Ragnar hardening inside of him, but it must be his hazy mind tricking him.

“Or we can lie down if your back hurts,” Athelstan supplies.

“It doesn’t. But we can still lie down.”

Somehow, Ragnar manages to lower Athelstan on the ground without pulling out. Athelstan’s throat stings where Ragnar bit it. As if he sensed it, the Northman licks the skin when he starts thrusting again. Athelstan shivers, arms lying limp above his head. The stimulation is pleasurable, but not enough to make him hard again. Doesn’t matter, that means Athelstan can lie down lazily, sighing with pleasure and twirling Ragnar’s braid between his fingers while the Northman keeps kissing his throat, doing so until he comes. When Ragnar eventually stills and slumps beside him, Athelstan keeps him close, cradling the Northman’s head on his chest while he gazes at the sky.

“You know,” Ragnar says, far too soon for someone whose heart is still beating so fast, “I think I discovered why Dagrun is so obsessed with my hair.”

Athelstan lifts his head off the ground to catch Ragnar’s eyes, but he can only see the crown of his head. If he feels Athelstan’s movement, Ragnar doesn’t turn, too busy nuzzling at the soft skin of Athelstan’s chest.

“How is it that you’re thinking about this know?” Athelstan asks.

“Don’t you want to hear my theory?”

Athelstan can feel Ragnar’s grin on his skin. He shrugs as he lets his head fall back, playing absently with Ragnar’s braid again.

“Tell me.”

Ragnar does turn now, with a content smirk. He rolls to lie above Athelstan, stroking the tip of his nose until Athelstan laughs, batting his hand away.

“Tell me!” Athelstan insists.

“That’s because she is like you.”

“What? I’m not obsessed with your hair.”

“Then why are you playing with it right now?”

Good point. Athelstan lets go of the braid, pushing Ragnar’s shoulders to roll above him. When he has him pinned between his thighs, Athelstan bends to pepper kisses on the muscled chest beneath him.

“Just shut up,” he growls.

“She is like you, a little thing all cute and playful,” Ragnar teases. “You have no idea how adorable I think it is.”

Since Ragnar won’t stop speaking, Athelstan has to make it happen. He has a few ideas on how he could proceed. They have enough time to try out all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... so, not too much plot here, sorry. Next chapter should make up for that, and I'll try to upload soon ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence, but no gory details ;)

Athelstan thought his insides would knot with fear on the day Horik is supposed to arrive, but he is more angry than afraid. At least for now. If he were alone in bed, he would keep turning again and again in annoyance. However, Ragnar spent the night with him, meaning he is still curled around Athelstan’s back, sleeping like a baby.

“Why are you so tense?”

Or maybe not.

“I’m not tense,” Athelstan grumbles, words half-muffled in the fur wrapped around them.

Ragnar shifts behind him and soon his breath tickles Athelstan’s nape, while his fingers trace an imaginary line on his side.

“Grumpy, with that,” Ragnar says smugly.

“Not grumpy,” he protests, keeping his voice low. Dagrun’s crib isn’t so far from their bed.

“You’ve been sighing for the last ten minutes. I believe you were also sighing while asleep. And anyway, I can feel it. What could bother you so much?”

Athelstan always tries to keep his annoyance to himself –a remnant of what he learned at the monastery, perhaps– but today he can’t. He turns around, finding himself nose to nose with Ragnar, so close their lips almost touch.

“Horik.”

Ragnar’s face shifts from teasing to understanding.

“Horik won’t be here for long.”

“If he could not be here at all,” Athelstan replies, picking some hairs on the fur. He sounds petty, he is aware. Yet they would all have a better day with Horik far from them.

Ragnar’s seriousness vanishes as soon as it appeared. He laughs, throwing his arm over Athelstan’s chest to bring him closer.

“Oh, my grumpy, lovely Athelstan. I will keep Horik busy; he won’t bother you.”

“It’s not about me. I’m worried about you, Dagrun. Aslaug and the boys, Lagertha and Bjorn. Torstein.”

Ragnar’s smile falters. He turns on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling, yet he keeps running a reassuring hand through Athelstan’s hair.

“All of us will be fine. I promise.”

***

Athelstan tries not to glare at Horik the second the king sets foot in Kattegat. Fortunately, he has other things to focus on. Like, how ridiculous he feels standing between Aslaug who looks royally calm and Lagertha who just looks royal. Or how quiet the boys are, even Ivar, while Dagrun can’t stop wriggling and wailing.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Athelstan mutters when some people glance at him. He rocks her in the way that usually calms her, to no avail. “Please, stop crying.”

“She is expressing what we all think,” Lagertha whispers with a smirk, never looking away from Horik, who is presenting Ragnar to a blond woman who must be his wife.

Before Athelstan can reply, Aslaug leans towards him.

“I would do the same if I could,” she says.

It is amazing how ten seconds later the two women greet Horik and his wife –Gunnhild– as well as their children, with perfectly straight faces. Whereas Athelstan is reduced to babbling a few words that are almost inaudible with Dagrun’s screams.

“Oh, someone is being very angry,” Gunnhild says.

She is smiling down at Athelstan and the baby; a cold, feral smile. She is a very good match to Horik, no doubt. Horik joins her and Athelstan struggles to keep from recoiling.

“It is pleasure to see you again, Athelstan,” Horik says. “I never thought King Ecbert would let you sail away.”

Somewhere behind the king, Athelstan sees Floki snickers. The shipbuilder never liked him –or at least, he never appeared to– but it still hurts.

“And I never thought he would send away an ally such as you, King Horik,” Athelstan retorts, using his most polite tone. “After all you did for him.”

He can’t help it. It seems to be a natural reaction when he is confronted to Horik. No one around them has heard of Horik’s treachery and seeing him forced to smile at Athelstan’s words is a delight. Besides, it pushes Horik to move on faster to greet other people, so it is worth it.

“Don’t provoke him,” Ragnar whispers into Athelstan’s ear when the king is far enough.

“My very presence here is a provocation,” Athelstan sighs. “I could say whatever I want, it wouldn’t change anything.”

They leave it at that and Athelstan goes to his room, where Dagrun finally calms down. In fact, she calms down as soon as they are alone. Athelstan is convinced she will start crying again the second he brings her back into the great hall.

“I know you don’t like him,” he tells her, even as her eyelids grow heavy. “But he won’t bother you, we’re safe here.”

“And we’ll all make sure you stay safe.”

Athelstan almost jumps off the bed before he registers it is Torstein who is standing in his room, leaning against the doorframe. Athelstan pats the bed next to him, which is all it takes for Torstein to join him.

“I had no idea such a tiny baby could scream so loud.”

“She was horrible,” Athelstan sighs, then realises what he just said. “Oh my God, that’s not what I meant. I’m tired and I don’t have much patience today.”

“Don’t worry. Ragnar said worse things about his boys.”

Athelstan sags a bit against Torstein, avoiding any sudden movement since Dagrun seems to be almost asleep.

“Athelstan… Whatever may happen,” Torstein says cautiously, “just know that we’ll be alright. Horik won’t harm any of us.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Just in case. We’re friends and I don’t want you to worry.”

Because it is not worrying at all when your friend tells you not to worry out of the blue. Athelstan doesn’t insist; he suspects Torstein won’t give any satisfying answer. Like Ragnar who shows him a hiding place but refuses to say anything clear. Oh yes, except ‘just in case.’

Athelstan has no idea how long they stay like this, both looking at Dagrun’s steady breathing. It must be long enough for someone to notice their absence, since Ragnar shows up in the room with a frown.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Putting Dagrun to bed,” Athelstan answers, unsettled by Ragnar’s curt tone and the wave of mixed feelings emanating from the Northman.

“Good. Torstein, there is a shieldmaiden looking for you in the great hall. Or two maybe.”

“I should hurry, then.”

Athelstan doesn’t question the fact that Torstein’s excited tone seems forced. He gets up when the Northman does, putting Dagrun in her crib. When he looks up, Torstein has already left.

“What did I do?” Athelstan asks, stepping away from the crib to put himself in front of Ragnar.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re angry. Don’t deny it, I can feel it. So: what did I do?”

Ragnar puts his hands on Athelstan’s shoulders, very slowly, as if he were afraid of scaring him. It isn’t necessary though –Athelstan can sense Ragnar’s anger decreasing, replaced by remorse.

“It isn’t something you did, Athelstan. Listen, you had a bad experience with Ecbert and it leaves marks, I understand. But I would rather stab myself than put you through what he did. Even if we’re mad at each other –which I can’t imagine– you don’t have to fear me.”

Ragnar punctuates his words with a long kiss on Athelstan’s forehead.

“Is it because of Torstein?” Athelstan whispers. He dreads Ragnar’s answer. He has no way to hide it.

The fact that Ragnar takes a second too long to reply doesn’t help.

“No. I’m glad you can rely on Torstein. Will you join me in the great hall? I feel lonely without you by my side.”

“You already have Aslaug and Lagertha,” Athelstan laughs.

“But they are not you.”

Athelstan’s heart shouldn’t melt like it does right now. With one last glance to the crib, promising himself he won’t go for long, he takes Ragnar’s hand and they leave the bedroom.

***

It takes two days before everything goes to hell. Right when Athelstan began to think they would be fine, in the end. But no, of course not.

Athelstan is in the great hall with Aslaug and the children when he notices something wrong. Ragnar is on his throne, talking to a villager, when one of his warriors rushes in and doesn’t slow down until he reaches the Earl. Aslaug and Athelstan can’t hear what is said from where they are, but they still exchange a frown when the warrior whispers a few words into Ragnar’s ear –words that seem to cause an effect on Ragnar. His jaw hardens and he gets up stiffly, following the man out of the great hall. Soon the other men standing there follow them.

Athelstan attempts to focus on Ragnar’s emotions, yet nothing clear comes out. Anxiety and wariness, perhaps. It is hard to focus on something else than his own pounding heart. Athelstan hesitates on what he should do when he hears a commotion from outside the hall, and then he stops hesitating. Whatever is happening, it is enough to worry Ragnar, therefore Athelstan should worry too.

He looks around to spot Siggy, but she is nowhere to be seen, probably taking care of Ivar in another room. Athelstan considers finding another servant when Aslaug puts a delicate hand on his shoulder.

“I will keep your baby with me,” she offers.

“Yes!” Ubbe exclaims, standing on the bench on which they sit to peek above her shoulder. “I want to play with Dagrun!”

Dagrun replies with a satisfied mewl directed at Ubbe, so who is Athelstan to refuse? He transfers her into Aslaug’s arms, placing a quick kiss on the baby’s hand before leaving. Finding out where the others are isn’t a problem: Athelstan only has to follow some villagers running towards a narrow alley, not far from the hall. He represses a groan when he discovers a thick crowd gathered around something he can’t see. Athelstan slides between pressed bodies, sometimes elbowing his way through them with profuse apologies. When he reaches the front, he wishes he had stayed in the hall.

“Torstein,” he whispers.

The Northman is lying on the ground, his blond beard marred with blood. His chest doesn’t move. Athelstan gasps, unable to take his eyes off Torstein’s body. It can’t be real. It can’t. Someone shakes his shoulder –Lagertha. Her lips are moving but Athelstan doesn’t pay attention to it. He doesn’t want to. His haphazard gaze roams through the crowd, spotting alternatively Bjorn, who look like he doesn’t believe it either, then Floki and Horik next to him. Horik. Athelstan tries to take a step towards him but Lagertha stops him, staring at him with an expression close to pleading.

“Not now,” she whispers.

She glances at Torstein’s body, causing Athelstan to do the same. That’s when he becomes aware of the tears burning behind his eyes. He is torn between his urge to shake Torstein until he opens his eyes –because he has to open his eyes– or to run back to the great hall. Before Athelstan can decide, a firm body presses against his, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Don’t look,” Ragnar whispers. “Don’t look, I’ll accompany you back to our bedroom.”

Athelstan can’t see Torstein anymore, even if he wanted to, with his face against Ragnar’s chest. This time it isn’t a struggle to walk through the crowd; the villagers part on their own accord in front of Ragnar.

They cross the great hall without stopping. Athelstan only has time to see that Dagrun is still safe in Aslaug’s arms, and a few seconds later he and Ragnar are in his bedroom. Unlike many times, Ragnar closes the door behind them, after checking that no one has followed them.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” Athelstan says. It is not really a question. The answer is too obvious. “What happened?”

The words come out of his mouth as if it were someone else speaking. He feels hollow. No, not hollow. The pain filling him is too much to say that.

“Listen, Athelstan,” Ragnar replies, grabbing Athelstan’s upper arms. “Listen to me.”

Athelstan shakes his head. He might not be ready to hear that, after all. As long as Ragnar doesn’t confirm anything, he can pretend it is just a nightmare. He takes a deep breath, burying his face in his hands, trying to calm down before his threatening panic takes over. As Athelstan focuses on taking deep breaths, an odd composure fills him. Wait…

“What is going on?” Athelstan asks, snapping his head up. “Torstein is… was your friend, why aren’t you…?”

Ragnar presses his forefinger on his lips, the hand still on Athelstan sliding up to settle on his nape. On any other day, it would be a grounding gesture, but tonight it just puzzles Athelstan more.

“Keep your voice low,” Ragnar whispers. “Torstein isn’t dead. That’s what I want Horik to believe, but he is fine. My men are bringing him to a safe place as we speak.”

“What? But why… he looked dead,” Athelstan protests and as the news sinks in, a sour anger arises. He has to contain it long enough for Ragnar to explain.

“Floki gave him special mushrooms.” Here Ragnar leans to whisper into Athelstan’s ear, lowering his voice to an impossible level. “Floki is on our side since the beginning. He gained Horik’s trust and he confirmed what I have suspected on a long time: Horik wants me dead, as well as all my loved ones. On the way back to Kattegat, he confessed to Floki that he tried to get rid of both of us in Wessex, by telling the truth to Ecbert. That’s all I needed to take my decision. Horik has to die.”

By now, Athelstan doesn’t know what he is feeling anymore. He is just a mess of mixed relief, uncertainty –really, he would like to see Torstein on his feet and grinning to be entirely convinced– and anger. So he focuses on the main question burning his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ragnar’s gaze shifts to the ceiling for a few seconds, his fingers twitching on Athelstan’s skin. Yes, you’d better choose your next words carefully.

“The whole affair had to remain a secret. No one knew except for Torstein and Floki. It was already so hard for you in Wessex, I didn’t want you to bear this burden. That’s why I was angry the other day, I thought Torstein was going to tell you.”

“I am not talking about the whole plan,” Athelstan hisses, the only alternative he has found to avoid shouting. “I am talking about how you decided to let me believe Torstein was dead!”

“I thought you would stay in the hall. I thought I would have time to explain before you hear about it. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”

“I hope you’re sincere, because…” Athelstan hesitates. He could leave it at that: Torstein is alive and he can understand why Ragnar wanted to keep it secret. But Athelstan has to be honest now, or he knows things won’t be the same as they were before. “Because you led me to think my friend was dead. You didn’t mean to, I am aware. You didn’t want to hurt me. That’s the big difference between you and Ecbert yet… even if it lasted a few minutes, it was worse than receiving a blow.”

Athelstan hopes Ragnar can understand. He is nothing like Ecbert, however it doesn’t mean Athelstan would accept this kind of… surprise twice. Ragnar has to understand it.

“Torstein may not be my soulmate but I love him. Not like I love you,” he adds softly when Ragnar recoils. “I care for him just like you do, as a close friend. So please, never do this again, because next time you announce someone is dead, maybe I will think it is just a lie, a plot against one of your enemies. When it is not.”

Ragnar studies him for a few –endless– seconds and Athelstan doesn’t know what to expect. If it were any other moment, the rational side of his mind would take over: Ragnar would not hurt him on purpose. He has nothing to fear. Yet with the last event, and Athelstan has to admit it, with what Ecbert did to him in the past, he is uncertain. It is hard to get rid of that.

“I promise,” Ragnar simply answers. “I didn’t… I should have thought about this in the first place. I hope you can forgive me.”

Ragnar’s sincerity is all Athelstan needs.

“I do,” he replies, stepping closer and standing on tiptoes to put his arms around Ragnar’s neck.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“If you’re aiming for some angry sex, it won’t happen tonight,” Athelstan warns, smiling but dead serious.

Ragnar sighs, not even managing to sound exasperated.

“I will find a way to piss you off again when all of this is over, and then we will have angry sex. Tonight I want to have you in my arms. I want to hear you heart beating next to mine.”

As tempting as it sounds, it doesn’t seem fair regarding Aslaug. If Athelstan doesn’t want to spend the night alone, she probably doesn’t want to either.

“What about Aslaug?”

“She can understand that I want to stay with you. It won’t bring up any trouble between the two of you.”

“That’s not the problem. I need you, and… oh, let me talk.”

It is hard to do so when Ragnar peppers kisses on his lips before attacking his throat. It doesn’t help forming coherent sentences.

“I like hearing you say things like this,” Ragnar says.

“Yeah, I need you,” Athelstan repeats, trying not to squirm too much. “Don’t forget I’m still mad at you. But I know Aslaug needs you too. No one should be alone tonight, so we could… My bed is too small for the three of us, however I could move in your room for tonight, with the baby.”

This is a delicate topic. Athelstan doesn’t want to impose on Aslaug, doesn’t want to hurt her feelings by lying into her own bed. He also hopes the princess won’t believe he is suggesting this out of pity. On the other hand, he knows deep down that Ragnar won’t change his mind. They don’t have much of a choice. Except it doesn’t seem to be a problem for Ragnar, for he is staring at Athelstan with a glint in his eyes that is very close to awe.

“Only one night,” Athelstan reminds him. “I don’t want Aslaug to be ill-at-ease.”

“Yes, yes of course.”

A stupid yet adorable smile lightens Ragnar’s face. Athelstan forbids himself to imitate him: they can’t go back to the great hall looking all bright and happy, not when their closest friend is supposed to be dead.

“Wipe this smile off your face, Earl Ragnar,” Athelstan whispers. “You have a battle to prepare.”

The reminder has an immediate effect. Ragnar nods solemnly, pressing a kiss on the tip of Athelstan’s nose before stepping back towards the door.

“Stay here for a while. I will tell Siggy to bring you Dagrun and when everyone has left, we will go to bed.”

***

Squeezing the three of them into the same bed isn’t that hard. Stepping into Aslaug’s room wasn’t hard in the first place, since she greeted Athelstan with a warm smile. They don’t talk much, but the atmosphere isn’t tense, unlike what Athelstan expected. He doesn’t have to stand awkwardly in front of the bed to wonder on which side he should settle; Ragnar grabs him in a tight embrace, making both of them tumble on the bed. The Northman places himself in the middle with Athelstan curled around him on one side and with an arm around Aslaug on the other. It really isn’t complicated.

***

Athelstan wakes up right before dawn. If Dagrun follows her usual pattern, she should wake up soon too. Meanwhile, he enjoys a few more minutes of peace during which he can pretend this morning is similar to any other morning. When Athelstan opens his eyes, it is to find Ragnar already awake, lying on his side beside him.

“You’re beautiful in the morning light,” Ragnar says, stroking his thumb on Athelstan’s lips.

Athelstan grins in return, only to tense up a second later. He lifts his head off the mattress, trying to peer over Ragnar’s shoulder.

“Aslaug is already with Ivar,” Ragnar informs him.

Athelstan slumps back with relief. He doesn’t mind the praise –hearing it almost every morning is a delight– but the same praise in front of Aslaug would be embarrassing.

“Can you stay in the great hall today?” Ragnar asks while he tangles their feet together. “I have good reasons to believe Horik is going to attack us before night comes, but I need a confirmation from Floki.”

“Today?” Athelstan whispers.

He knew this was coming. It is still much too soon.

“Yes. I want you to be safe and ready to leave before Horik makes his move.”

“I will stay with Aslaug and the boys, then. I promise.”

Somehow, it is a blessing that Athelstan didn’t get to practice a lot with weapons, apart from the dagger. This way, he doesn’t have to spend endless hours wondering if he would be of better use fighting with Ragnar or staying with his baby. They both know he would be useless in any fight involving axes and swords.

***

As a perfect illustration of the calm before the storm, Athelstan’s day is quite uneventful. The memory of what happened to Torstein –at least, what people think happened to Torstein– seems to hover over Kattegat. Athelstan alternates between going to the great hall and staying in his bedroom, where Ragnar finds him in the middle of the afternoon. He stands still for a few seconds without speaking, staring at Athelstan like it is the last time he may see him. Athelstan hates this look.

“Siggy told me Horik gave her a mission,” Ragnar declares, breaking the stressful silence. “He wants her to kill the children.”

Athelstan fingers clench on the fur on which he is sitting. He has a million things to say, but now is not the time to interrupt. They don’t have time.

“Siggy will join you and Aslaug before sunset, and all of you will go to the hiding spot I showed you. Don’t move from that place until I come to get you.”

Athelstan nods, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. Ragnar strides across the room, kneeling beside the bed and gripping Athelstan’s knees.

“Promise me,” Ragnar begs.

It is hard to look away from his watery eyes.

“I already promised you,” Athelstan babbles.

“Do it again! Horik wants to kill all my family. You’re probably the first one on his list, so promise me again you will stay hidden!”

“I do, I promise. I promise.”

Athelstan curls up around Ragnar, whispering those words against his skin as Ragnar lays his head on Athelstan’s lap.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Athelstan eventually says, tipping Ragnar’s head up so he can look him in the eye. “You want me to promise I’ll hide, fine. Then promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Despite the gloomy situation, Ragnar graces him with a fond smile.

“This is not how it works,” he replies, tucking a wild strand of hair behind Athelstan’s ear. “But I promise I’ll do my best. Also, I have something to give you.”

Ragnar reaches for his belt and unbuckles a narrow leather sheath, much smaller than the ones used for swords. He rolls up Athelstan’s sleeve and puts the sheath on the inside on his forearm. It is perfectly shaped for the dagger Ragnar gave him.

“Torstein told me about your little stunt with Horik, back in Wessex,” Ragnar explains with a wink. “Since you like hiding daggers under your sleeves, I thought you could find some use for this. Don’t hesitate to use the dagger tonight.”

Athelstan lets him buckle the sheath and adjust the leather straps around his arm. They are tight enough to stay in place but not to the point of being uncomfortable. Ragnar grabs the dagger –always near their bed– and slides it in the sheath, then rolls down the sleeve. His satisfied smirk is a perfect illustration of what Athelstan is thinking: no one could ever suspect a weapon is hidden there.

Maybe it is the feral glint burning in Ragnar’s eyes or the threat hanging above them, but a sudden craving for contact washes over Athelstan. He grabs Ragnar’s hair with a roughness that surprises him and crashes their lips together. Ragnar doesn’t waste a single second, parting his lips right away. He doesn’t even pull back when Athelstan accidentally bites his tongue.

“My lovely warrior,” Ragnar growls when Athlestan releases his mouth, panting. “I swear you’ll be back in my arms tonight.”

They will have to make it happen. They will make it happen.

Ragnar gets up and bends over to place his now usual peck on Athelstan’s nose, then goes to Dagrun’s crib. Athelstan can’t see what he is doing, but judging from the movement of his hand, he must be stroking her hair. This all feels too much like a goodbye.

Athelstan can’t look at Ragnar when he leaves, despite the weight of the Northman’s stare on him. Instead, he focuses on the comforting presence of the leather around his arm. With some luck, he won’t have to use his dagger today.

After some time, the loneliness of his bedroom becomes unbearable. Without a precise idea of what he wants to do, Athelstan walks over to the crib, half hoping the baby isn’t asleep. His mood improves as soon as he sees her playing with one of her foot. She stops to give him her baby smile, a happy sound escaping her.

“Come on, let’s go see your brother,” he says, gathering Dagrun in his arms. “You haven’t seen Ubbe since what… two hours? I’m sure that’s already too long.”

Athelstan heads for the great hall and finds the boy sitting with Aslaug on the furs spread around Ragnar’s throne.

“Athelstan!” Ubbe exclaims, dropping his wooden toys all at once. He started displaying such enthusiasm for Athelstan’s presence a few days ago, and Athelstan never expected it to be so touching. “Can I hold Dagrun?”

“Of course.”

Dagrun waves her arms above her head when Athelstan places her into Ubbe’s hold. He waits until the little boy sits back next to Hvitserk, picking up a toy which immediately catches Dagrun’s interest, before lowering himself on the furs next to Aslaug. They haven’t reached the point where they are completely comfortable together, yet with every new day, the way they greet each other and talk feels more natural.

“This day seems endless,” Athelstan says, casting an absent look around the hall.

Some warriors are still sitting at the large tables, none of them being one of Horik’s men. Athelstan is pretty sure Ragnar ordered them to stay here. He can’t see Lagertha or Bjorn. Where could they be? Hiding at the perfect spot to ambush Horik? Or still preparing their weapons, perhaps? Not knowing what is going to happen is the worse.

“No matter how long this day lasts, the gods will be with us,” Aslaug replies.

With the children around, they can’t say a lot. The boys aren’t listening to them, however they will be quick to notice any suspect word, so they settle for a harmless conversation, mainly revolving around weaving. Athelstan started learning that technique with Torstein not long ago, surprised to discover that men practice it as much as women do. Weaving while talking about fighting tricks and weapons range proved to be a relaxing past time.

Athelstan can’t help glancing towards the entrance from time to time, tensing a little more each time he sees the outside light darkening. The warriors are still there, but at an unknown signal, they leave the great hall. Athelstan sends a questioning look to Aslaug, who doesn’t seem to know more than he does. Thankfully, when he turns back to the entrance, Siggy strides in, her hair swinging around her.

“Time to go,” she says when she joins them, taking Ivar in her arms. “Quickly.”

Aslaug takes Hvitserk’s hand while Ubbe gets up, carrying Dagrun.

“I can protect her,” he declares, standing straight.

Ubbe awkwardly bends backwards to jut one hip out, dragging Athelstan’s attention to the wooden sword hanging by his belt. Despite the urgency, a small grin stretches Athelstan’s lips.

“I’m sure you can,” he answers as he picks up the baby, securing her against him with one arm and putting his other hand on Ubbe’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m keeping you close.”

“We have to go now,” Siggy urges.

They leave the hall at a quick pace but not quick enough to draw attention on them, although all of Horik’s men must be somewhere else with their leader.

“This way,” Siggy indicates, leading them towards a less used path of the town.

They are not fast enough, or maybe the sun is speeding up his course. They cross almost empty streets and all the remaining people they see are men, with their hands never far from a sword or an axe. Athelstan feels naked with his dagger in his sleeve.

He is walking a little behind Aslaug and Siggy, so when they abruptly stop walking, he can’t see why. But Aslaug pushes Hvitserk behind her –it can’t be a good sign. Athelstan does the same with Ubbe as he places himself next to Aslaug, ignoring the boy’s muttered protests about not seeing anything.

The Northman blocking their way isn’t one of Ragnar’s men. Athelstan doesn’t know all of them, but he would have remembered this one if he had seen him, with his long braids and the tattoos sneaking up his throat. Besides, Ragnar’s warriors wouldn’t be openly leering at Aslaug. This one is so caught up doing so he doesn’t even seem to notice Athelstan and the children.

“Going somewhere, Princess?” the man growls.

The ugly smile on his face is sickening. Athelstan glances at the man’s weapon –still hanging at his belt– then at the distance between him and Aslaug. He is much too close. There is no one around to help them. Athelstan won’t have time to put Dagrun in Ubbe’s arms to grab his dagger and then…

He doesn’t get the mere opportunity to move: the warriors steps forward, one big hand reaching out for Aslaug’s throat, at the same time Siggy leaps towards him. Athelstan catches a glimpse of something silvery and a second later, blood is flowing from the warrior’s throat. The man falls on the ground, his mouth opened in a silent scream.

“Are you alright?”

It takes a moment for Athelstan to realise Siggy is talking to him. Aslaug is still staring at the dying warrior, one hand clasped on her mouth and the other gripping Hvitserk’s shoulder so hard her knuckles are turning white. The boy’s face is blank yet he is unable to look away. Athelstan must look terrible if Siggy chooses to ask about him.

“I’m fine… It’s the first time I watch someone die,” Athelstan replies.

“And probably not the last,” Siggy says. “Now we must leave before his friends find us.”

They only manage a few steps before a roar breaks the silence, followed by clattering sounds. It comes from behind a house, but soon similar sounds echo from everywhere. Siggy doesn’t need to say anything, they break into a run all at once. They aren’t so far from the woods, only thirty seconds more maybe…

A mixed group of fighting warriors and villagers appears on their left. One man falls when an axe hits his chest. Another group appears behind them, bringing up more shouting, more screams of pain. Amidst all this mess, Dagrun starts crying against Athelstan’s chest. He glances around frantically with every new step, coming to a screeching halt when he spots several archers preparing to shot their arrows. They are not aiming at Athelstan and the children, yet it doesn’t mean they won’t hurt them by accident. Athelstan grabs Ubbe and pushes him behind a providential barrel, before crouching next to the boy. Whistling arrows fly through the air at this precise moment, one of them ending up stuck in the wall of the house right behind them.

“Whoa,” Ubbe whispers, craning his neck to glance at the arrow. Athelstan can’t decide if the boy sounds frightened or fascinated.

Squeezed as they are between the large barrel and the wall, with the light darkening, no one can see them. Athelstan peeps sideways to check where Aslaug and Siggy are, but he can’t see them, which means they must already be outside of Kattegat. With all this agitation, they may not have noticed when Athelstan and Ubbe stayed back. Or perhaps they were attacked and forced to flee without waiting.

Athelstan almost loses his balance as he tries to catch a better look of the street, then almost falls on Ubbe when he spots two warriors walking towards the barrel. Of course, no one can see them, but with Dagrun’s wails, the warriors can’t miss them either. It is too late to try to calm her down.

“Ubbe, do you know where the hiding place is?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Listen, these men want to catch us and if they do, we will die. I will distract them when they find us, meanwhile,” and here Athelstan puts Dagrun in the boy’s arms, the sight of her tears breaking his heart, “you take your sister and you run to the woods, until you reach Siggy and your mother. I’ll make sure they don’t follow you.” 

Athelstan speaks so fast he fears Ubbe won’t understand, but the boy nods, crouching in a position that will allow him to break into a run quickly when necessary. It is risky –if a warrior follows Ubbe and finds Siggy and Aslaug… Athelstan prefers not thinking about that possibility.

“It is alright, Dagrun, you’re with your brother,” he babbles, trying to convince himself that it will be, indeed, alright.

“What about you, Athelstan?” Ubbe asks.

The concern showing in his eyes is going to make Athelstan cry. He ruffles Ubbe’s hair, forcing a tight smile on his lips.

“I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.”

Behind Dagrun’s screams and the now distant sounds of clashing blades, Athelstan hears heavy footsteps coming closer and closer. He turns just in time to see a Northman stopping next to the barrel and looming above Ubbe and him.

“Alfuir, look what we have here,” the man tells his companion. “Ragnar’s newest wench and two of his little bastards. Horik is going to be so pleased.”

The Northman smirks down at Athelstan, reaching out to grab him. Pushed by fear as much as anger, Athelstan does the only thing possible considering the position he is in. He clenches his fingers into fists and hits the Northman’s crotch hard. Twice, for good measure. The warrior falls back, howling, and Athelstan seizes the opportunity to make room for Ubbe before the other Northman –Alfuir– can come closer.

“Go Ubbe, go!”

The boy springs forward, sneaking out of reach of Alfuir’s hands, and sprints towards the woods. The Northman takes a step in his direction, then hesitates and turns to Athelstan, who realises he is stuck behind the barrel. The fallen Northman is still grunting on the ground, however he will be back on his feet soon. Something must be done about that.

Athelstan braces himself on the wall and the barrel, straightening up and digging the heel of his boot into the man’s stomach. This gives him time go past the man, but he can’t escape Alfuir, who catches his wrist and drags him towards the middle of the street, where Athelstan can’t hide. The man doesn’t let go of his wrist, no matter how hard Athelstan pulls back.

“Yeah, you can fight,” Alfuir sneers, yanking Athelstan against him. “We’re going to kill your bastard child, and after that Horik will decide what to do with you!”

Athelstan lets out an angry shout, twisting in the man’s grasp, kicking any part of his body he can reach. The man only grunts at the annoyance.

“Orri!” he shouts. “Get your ass off the ground!”

His fellow warrior obeys –with some difficulty– clutching both his stomach and crotch. Athelstan keeps struggling, but not as much as he could. He can’t waste all of his strength now.

Orri limps towards them, shooting a murderous glare at Athelstan. When he is close enough, Athelstan pulls on Alfuir’s hold again, throwing himself at Orri, who takes several steps back.

“I’m sure your friends would laugh at you!” Athelstan spits. “Cowering in front of an omega!”

“Oh, he is a furious one,” Alfuir laughs behind him.

Athelstan launches himself back against him, and the Northman has to take a step sideways to avoid tripping. Then he releases Athelstan’s wrist and plasters him against his larger body, one arm around Athelstan’s waist and the other across his chest, half choking him. Athelstan doesn’t care. His arms are free now.

“Keep up with the struggle, omega,” Alfuir hisses in his ear. “You have no idea how much we love it.”

Still clutching his stomach, Orri approaches them, eyeing Athelstan’s feet warily. It is now or never. Athelstan grits his teeth and sneaks his hand under the sleeve hiding his dagger.

***

Once one of Ragnar’s men warns him of Horik’s expected attack, Ragnar decides to make his way back to the great hall. This is where Horik will come to find him. Besides, hiding while his warriors are fighting doesn’t sit well with Ragnar, even if it is part of the whole plan.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to fight?” Torstein asks, peering into the streets between two planks of the house they are hiding in. “Your wound must still hurt.”

It does. When the weather is rainy, or when Ragnar puts too much strain on his shoulder. But when he has to fight for his family, it doesn’t hurt, not for a single second.

“What about you, Torstein?” Ragnar grunts. “These mushrooms Floki gave you were pretty intense. Will you be able to fight?”

Torstein snorts, rolling his eyes.

“What about Athelstan? Are you sure he is safe?”

Ragnar’s snappy mood dissolves all at once. He has felt Athelstan’s anxiety since he woke up, which isn’t surprising considering the situation.

“He must be in the woods with Aslaug and Siggy by now. Is the street clear?”

“I think so,” Torstein replies, taking his sword in hand.

Thank the Gods, Ragnar wouldn’t have been able to wait any longer. They sneak out of the house, ready to hack their way to the great hall. They don’t have to: the fight is literally dying down and it is not Ragnar’s warriors who are lying on the ground.

They reach the hall at the same time Lagertha and Bjorn do. Lagertha’s scowl is the first thing Ragnar notices.

“Did you have to do this?” she asks, struggling to keep her voice even.

“Do what?”

“Killing Horik’s children.”

Ah. This wasn’t a pleasant decision.

“We both know it was necessary. Horik wouldn’t have had a single hesitation if it had been you or… Athelstan.”

Ragnar’s hand instinctively goes to his heart. He has felt Athelstan’s fear before, like when Ecbert beat him. What he senses now is true panic.

“I understand,” Lagertha says, her face softening, “but some of the girls were so young…”

“No, something’s happening to Athelstan,” Ragnar interrupts. “He isn’t in the woods. You all wait here!”

Ragnar breaks into a run, not bothering to check if they obey. He knows they will stay there –killing Horik is their priority. Ragnar would rather do it himself, but he will leave that pleasure to Lagertha if he has to. Finding Athelstan is the only thing that matters.

Ragnar has no idea about where his soulmate is, yet the bond seems to guide him. He doesn’t think twice about which street he has to cross, which path he should take. The bond chooses for him.

Knowing that someone is attacking Athelstan and therefore, being prepared to see it, doesn’t tame the deep hatred filling Ragnar when he eventually finds what he was looking for. Yes, it is hatred that clenches his heart as he spots a warrior trying to restrain Athelstan. If he had time, Ragnar would smirk at the hard time Athelstan is giving the man, kicking anything within reach even when the warrior traps him against his chest. And then, Ragnar sees the second warrior –whose back is turned to him– approaching Athelstan. Ragnar sees red. A bright, violent red.

Ragnar resumes his run, barely paying attention to scattered groups of Northmen fighting here and there. One lone warrior has the bad idea to put himself on Ragnar’s way, his axe already swinging to give a lethal blow. Ragnar spares him a single glance, just long enough to focus on the man’s unprotected chest and hit him with all his strength. He has already walked past him when he hears the Northman fall.

Ragnar locks his eyes on his targets again –only two or three houses between them now– right in time to catch a dangerous glint in Athelstan’s eyes a second before he slides his hand under his sleeve. His soulmate hits as fast as a snake, digging his dagger into the warrior’s hip. The man stumbles backwards with a scream, almost dragging Athelstan down with him. The second man raises his axe and Ragnar knows Athelstan won’t have time to block the coming hit. Even if he did, a dagger never stopped an axe.

Ragnar roars, both to distract himself from his sudden panic and to catch the warrior’s attention. It works. The idiot turns his back to Athelstan, giving him time to regain his balance. Perhaps the sight of Ragnar running towards him with a murderous scowl is enough to make him forget about the small omega behind him.

The warrior tightens his grip on his weapon and surges forward. He and Ragnar are only a few feet away when the man staggers, staring at him disbelievingly. Ragnar comes to a halt, watching the Northman drop his axe first, then collapse on the ground. There is a thin dagger sticking out of his back. Ragnar stares at the corpse for a few seconds before arching one eyebrow towards Athelstan.

“You don’t need me at all,” Ragnar says, an incredulous grin splitting his face.

Athelstan makes a vague gesture with his hand, panting a bit.

“He wanted to hurt you,” is his only reply.

Ragnar wants to roll his eyes at how silly this sounds, but he settles on bending down to retrieve the dagger off the dead man’s back, wiping it on his clothes.

“He wanted to hurt you, he says,” Ragnar echoes, handing the dagger back to Athelstan. He puts his hand at the back of Athelstan’s head and plants a messy kiss on his temple. “Gods.”

Athelstan looks up at him with a sweet, slightly sheepish smile. His shoulders shake a little, which isn’t surprising for someone who killed for the first time. Ragnar wishes he could cradle him in his arms and stay like that forever, but they don’t exactly have time for that.

“We’ll be done soon,” Ragnar promises.

A grunt drags his attention to the first warrior Athelstan wounded. The man tries to both stand and stop the flow of blood pouring from his hip. He doesn’t even have time to raise his hands when Ragnar gives him one last blow.

That’s all he deserved. The thoughts echoes in Ragnar’s mind until tentative fingers slip into his hand.

“Aslaug and Siggy took the chidren in the woods,” Athelstan tells him. “I was stuck behind with Ubbe and Dagrun, but they also managed to flee. No one followed them.”

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go there alone. Let’s head back to the great hall and after that, we’ll go find them.”

Ragnar has one last thing to do.

***

They sneak into the great hall a few minutes before Horik arrives. Torstein has already taken a seat in the middle of the room, hidden under his cloak and ready to greet King Horik.

“Torstein,” Athelstan whispers when he recognizes him.

Ragnar hates having to tug him away towards the back of the hall, but it is only for a short time. He realises he feels worse about it than Athelstan does, for he doesn’t sense any resentment coming from his soulmate. It is just that denying anything to Athelstan, even the smallest thing, appears do be somewhat hard.

Ragnar stays hidden with Athelstan, since the others don’t need him right now. They didn’t see Lagertha, Rollo or Bjorn on the way, yet Ragnar knows they are here, waiting in the shadows of the great hall. Floki isn’t far, twirling a dagger between his fingers as he periodically keeps a watch on the hall.

Ragnar and Athelstan remain wrapped in each other’s arms the whole time. Ragnar bases his breathing on Athelstan’s, keeping himself focused on what he has to accomplish. Feeling Athelstan’s warmth through his clothes helps him remember why he is doing this. Why, as much as he doesn’t enjoy it, he had to kill a whole family. The very reason he is doing this is right there, breathing quietly against his throat. It is us or them, Ragnar reminds himself one more time.

At one point Floki lets out a slight hiss and they hear the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. Athelstan starts when Horik’s voice breaks the silence, calling for Ragnar.

“Shh,” Ragnar whispers, stroking Athelstan’s back.

A fight starts in the great hall, or a slaughter, more likely. When it stops, Floki steps forward, grim looking as ever. Ragnar vaguely hears him talking to Horik. He sighs, reluctant to let go of Athelstan. He probably would have hesitated for long minutes if Athelstan hadn’t stepped back, squeezing his hands before moving aside. Everything will be fine –Horik will have to go past Ragnar to get to Athelstan, and he won’t be in a state to do so.

The King has already received several blows when Ragnar shows up. As Ragnar approaches him, everyone else leaves the hall. This is between him and Horik, after all. Part of Ragnar wants to say that this is payback for the betrayal, for trying to turn Floki against him, for planning the murder of his loved ones. Yet he doesn’t need to say a single word. He doesn’t need to drag this on any longer.

Killing Horik is quite satisfying.

***

Every two or three days, Ragnar climbs on a cliff high enough to see all of Kattegat, as well as the sea. It helps clear his mind after a long day being Earl. Scratch that, a very long day being King.

Ragnar got into the habit of doing so after killing Horik but he has never brought anyone with him up here. If the light footsteps coming his way are any indication, he isn’t alone today. It isn’t going to be a problem, since he could recognize the sound of these footsteps anytime.  
Ragnar doesn’t turn away from the landscape laid out in front of him, only letting a small smile stretch his lips when a familiar hand slips in his.

“Just checking on you,” Athelstan informs him.

Ragnar glances down at Athelstan, finding him staring at the scenery, bewilderment all over his face.

“Your kingdom is bigger than I expected.”

“And even bigger with Horik’s lands.” Ragnar shifts Athelstan against him, freeing his hand to put his arm around Athelstan’s shoulders. They discovered recently Athelstan has the perfect height to fit his head right under Ragnar’s chin, and it seems Ragnar can’t tire of that. “Listen, I know you’ve had bad experiences with kings.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ecbert was beating you and Horik tried to murder you, so… I just want you to know that I won’t be that sort of king.”

He feels Athelstan’s frown on his skin, and he is still frowning when he pulls back enough to look at Ragnar.

“I know,” he replies. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you weren’t planning on murdering me.”

Ragnar stares at him with wide eyes, until a teasing grin belies Athelstan’s serious tone. Ragnar grunts, giving him a light slap on the butt, which only earns him a chuckle.

“It isn’t only about that. I’ve been thinking, since that night we spent with Aslaug. I realised it was hard to divide my… attentions.”

The truth is Ragnar might have been clinging to Athelstan’s the whole night. Like every over night they spend together, but none of them mentions it.

“I don’t think I can love Aslaug like I love you,” Ragnar adds. Athelstan may not say anything, but Ragnar does notice the way his shoulder tenses. Thanks to the bond, he knows it is in expectation rather than anxiety. “Besides, I am not sure she still wants me.”

What Ragnar doesn’t want to say is that he loved Lagertha more than Aslaug, and now he loves Athelstan more than Aslaug. He doesn’t have control over these feelings, but the fact that he wasn’t able to hide it makes him feel guilty. Aslaug has never said a word about it, but he sees in her eyes that she knows. Ragnar feels awful about that, he does. However, spending his life with Athelstan, giving him the happiness he was denied in Wessex, is more important than anything else.

“What’s going to happen, then?” Athelstan asks. “We talked about it, I don’t want her to leave because of me. I even believe we could be friends one day.”

“To everyone we will be living as husbands and wife. In private, it will be you and me. Of course, if Aslaug finds interest in someone else, I won’t oppose to it.”

It would be more than unfair if he did.

“Does it suit you, my lovely warrior?”

“If Aslaug agrees.”

“She kicked me out of her bed yesterday. I believe she agrees.”

Athelstan hums what must be his agreement as he turns around to face Ragnar, a lazy grin plastered on his face.

“You and me, then, my King?”

The way he purrs the last word does wonderful things to Ragnar. He hooks his thumb under Athelstan’s chin to tilt his head up, and captures his upper lip with a swift nip.

“You and me,” Ragnar confirms.

“You know, I left Dagrun with Torstein and Ubbe, so we have some time ahead of us in case you want to show me how you envision that ‘you and me’ idea.”

Athelstan punctuates his words with a little sway of his hips, grinning so wide his cheeks probably hurt. Ragnar swears to himself he will do whatever it takes to make Athelstan grin like this at least once a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, almost the end :) The epilogue should be ready in a few days.


	20. Chapter 20

Three years later

 

Athelstan stirs awake, patting blindly towards Ragnar’s side of the bed and only finding emptiness. That’s unusual, considering that Athelstan has to extricate himself from Ragnar’s drowsy grip almost every morning. What is even more unusual is that Dagrun isn’t in her bed either.

 

Athelstan takes less than a minute to throw some clothes on, then heads for the great hall. The more he glances around, the more his frown deepens. Still no Ragnar in sight, but at least he spots Aslaug, who is busy coaxing Ivar into eating his breakfast.

 

“Morning Athelstan,” she says with a sleepy smile.

 

“Morning,” he replies. “Did you… uh, did you happen to see Dagrun and Ragnar?”

 

“I’m pretty sure I saw her sprinting across the hall less than an hour ago, shouting something about seeing the horses. As for Ragnar, he was trying to keep up with her. I haven’t seen them since that moment.”

 

Petting the horses –more like playing with their mane– is one of Dagrun’ passions, so Athelstan isn’t surprised. Although, when he goes to the stables he can’t find his daughter or Ragnar. Athelstan strides back to the great hall and thankfully, he finds Torstein on his way. The Northman grins, extending his arms.

 

“Ready for your fighting practice?”

 

“Yes! Uh, no, not now. Torstein, I can’t find Ragnar,” Athelstan blurts out.

 

“Oh, he is at the beach with Dagrun. And a horse, too. Dagrun was beaming up there.”

 

At the mention of the beach, Athelstan relaxes. Then Torstein’s words sink in.

 

“Up there? What do you mean, ‘up there’? Like, up there on the horse?”

 

Torstein’s face –a mix of amusement and hesitation– is enough of an answer.

 

“It is a really small horse!” he exclaims as Athelstan rushes towards the beach.

 

As if size mattered. It is still a baby. On a horse, small or not. Athelstan mulls over this thought until he reaches the beach. Only then, his mouth curls into a fond smile as he catches sight of Ragnar, holding the reins of a horse with one hand and keeping the other pressed against their daughter’s back to secure her on the saddle.

 

Athelstan can’t wipe the smile off his face when they notice him. Dagrun lifts her arms in victory as Athelstan comes closer.

 

“Dadda, look! I’m on horse!”

 

“You look like a fierce shieldmaiden,” Athelstan replies, reaching up to ruffle her black curls.

 

She wriggles her legs against the saddle as if to urge the horse forward, to no avail of course, then bends over the horse’s neck to stroke its mane.

 

“Pretty hair,” she coos.

 

Athelstan makes sure she is busy enough with her petting before glaring at Ragnar, who holds one hand up in surrender.

 

“A three-year-old baby on a horse?” Athelstan whispers.

 

“She wanted to surprise you. I didn’t agree at the beginning, but she made those watery eyes, so…”

 

“Surprise!” Dagrun exclaims.

 

“It is an awesome surprise, princess,” Athelstan says.

 

She makes grabby hands at him and he scoops her down in his arms. As cute as she looked on the horse, it is still a relief. Ragnar hugs him from behind, his beard tickling Athelstan’s ear.

 

“You know, there might be another surprise waiting for you.”

 

“Surprise day!” Dagrun shouts, clapping her hands together.

 

Maybe Athelstan should worry. Maybe Ragnar decided to teach their daughter how to use a knife.

 

“Look,” Ragnar says as he turns Athelstan towards the other side of the beach.

 

There is a boat at the jetty, which Athelstan couldn’t see from the path he was coming from. Many people bustle around it, and he might recognize a familiar blond head.

 

“Is Lagertha back?”

 

She left almost a year ago to settle on the land Ecbert promised, and none of them knew when she would come back.

 

“Yeah,” Ragnar replies, sounding a little smug. “She didn’t come back alone. Come on, follow me.”

 

Athelstan wants to object that yes, it is very obvious she didn’t come back alone, but Ragnar already pushes him towards the jetty. Athelstan’s gaze goes from one person to another, some of them he knows and some he doesn’t. Until he sees one familiar face and stops dead in his tracks. That’s one face he hasn’t seen in a long time.

 

“I can keep our girl, since you may want to have your arms free,” Ragnar suggests.

 

Ragnar doesn’t wait for Athelstan’s answer, which is good considering he hasn’t recovered all of his talking abilities yet. After several seconds, he just grins at Ragnar and goes to the boat.

 

“Welcome, Prince Aethelwulf.”

 

Aethelwulf spins on his heels at the sound of Athelstan’s voice, a smile lightening his face. He almost loses balance when Athelstan throws himself at him, and returns his embrace with an equal strength.

 

“What are you doing here?” Athelstan asks when they part. Even with Aethelwulf so close, it feels surreal.

 

“Officially, I’m on a diplomatic mission on behalf of my father. But I really just wanted to see you.”

 

“Please tell me you’re staying for a while,” Athelstan begs, and he is so happy he wants to laugh.

 

“I am not setting foot on this damn boat before long, my stomach wouldn’t forgive me. You’ll have to endure my presence for several weeks I think. Yeah, I’m not in a hurry to be on sea again.”

 

Behind him, Lagertha hides a smirk.

 

“You’ll love it here,” Athelstan assures him as they leave the jetty.

 

Ragnar is waiting for them on the beach with Dagrun, who wriggles in his grasp until he sets her down. She runs to them and hides behind Athelstan’s legs, still addressing a shy smile to Aethelwulf.

 

“Hey, you grew up so much,” Aethelwulf exclaims, crouching to be at her eye-level. “Hello, Dagrun.”

 

“Hello,” she replies, only hesitating for a split second before stepping away from Athelstan.

 

Another five seconds and she is already explaining Aethelwulf how awesome it was to ride a horse this morning, and Athelstan is quite glad he taught her some English. He knew it would come useful one day.

He seizes the opportunity to go to Ragnar, taking his hands and threading their fingers together. Joy is irradiating from the Northman, mixing with Athelstan’s bright mood.

 

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Athelstan asks.

 

“Maybe…”

 

“Did you tell Lagertha to ask him to come here?”

 

“No, but I may have said that if he wanted to pay us a visit, we would be glad to have him as a guest.”

 

They glance at Aethelwulf and Dagrun, now in a very solemn conversation which must involve hair, since the little girl is pointing repeatedly at the prince’s curls.

 

“Are you happy?” Ragnar whispers in his ear, running his thumb on the back of Athelstan’s hand.

 

Athelstan tiptoes to press a light kiss at the corner of Ragnar’s mouth.

 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end! A cheesy ending, since I'm a little sad it's over ;)
> 
> A big thank you to all of you, for all the kudos and lovely comments, and above all, for reading! That was kind of awesome :)


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